


every piece of me and you

by thundersquall



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Impregnation Kink, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Marriage of Convenience, Masturbation, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Pregnancy Kink, Rimming, Size Kink, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 94,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/pseuds/thundersquall
Summary: Patrick’s pretty happy with the life he has living in Chicago and being part of an Original Six hockey team. He's got three Stanley Cups under his belt, enough money to take care of his loved ones, and some epic casual sex on the side with his captain. He’s living the high life. He wouldn’t change a thing.Except that one day he ends up pregnant, and the next he’s married to Jonny to avoid a scandal, and suddenly his easygoing existence is a hell of a lot more complicated.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 317
Kudos: 618
Collections: 1988: Locked In





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> yes, this is THE mpreg fic that i've been working on since 2016 and which so many people have heard me talk about over the last few years that they're probably sick of it!
> 
> some notes:
> 
> \- full disclosure: this is the fic i'm submitting for the [1988 Quaranthon](https://1988quaranthon.tumblr.com/) challenge (it allows WIPs to be used as challenge fics)! when I first picked up working on this again at the beginning of the Quaranthon, I had about 45k words written; now i'm up to 55k and still going. i decided to use the challenge as a way to get my ass into gear to finish this and I have high hopes that I can do that by the september deadline!  
> \- this is obviously still a WIP, but I THINK eventually it will stretch maybe 8 chapters, possibly 10?  
> \- the fic starts in 2016, during the world cup of hockey which was held in september that year. that was also the time I started writing this fic, hah.  
> \- a HUGE thank you to all the people who have waited so patiently for me to work on this while I kept being distracted writing other things! I have got so much support and interest from so many people for this and I really want to finish this and present something good to everyone!  
> \- special thanks to heartstrings, for her eternal encouragement and support and her hard work betaing (especially on my britishisms!!!), and to trademarkgiggle for being such a source of inspiration and helping me beta this too despite everything you have on your plate! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST <333  
> \- if you read this fic: THANK YOU!

The test reads positive.

Patrick sits down heavily on the toilet seat and tries not to hyperventilate, the test stick clutched in his fist. Positive. The fucking pregnancy test, that he’d taken based just on a gut feel and a passing whim, is _positive_.

He holds the stick up in front of his face and shakes it, hoping against all hope that it’s wrong. No go – the plus sign, two dark blue lines bisecting each other, is still there, clear as day.

It’s four hours to Team USA’s opening game of the World Cup, against Team Europe, and all Patrick can think is: _fuck_. He’s already played three pre-tournament games, worked out and practiced and skated drills, while pregnant. He has to get on the team bus and go to the Air Canada Centre and suit up in like, a couple of hours. He has to go out there and play, live up to the letter he’s been given – and he’s _pregnant_. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Patrick feels another wave of nausea coming on, and he has to slide off the toilet so he can drop to his knees and heave over it. He’s not even sure if he’s puking because of the pregnancy, or the realization of the pregnancy.

Right now, all Patrick really knows are two things: the first is that he can’t pull out of the damn tournament, can’t tell anyone about this, at least not yet. He’s got to get through it as best as he can, tell the trainers and doctors it’s just a stomach bug. That’s what they’ve been thinking, anyway, except that Patrick kind of got a weird feeling or something this morning, and very discreetly bought a pregnancy test kit from a Rexall some distance from the hotel, while he was out for a lone walk. He doesn’t think he got recognized – he’d worn sunglasses and a cap pulled low over his head, and the bored teenager manning the cashier barely looked up from her magazine while ringing up Patrick’s purchase – but the point is, he’d been thinking it was a stomach bug too. There'd been nothing more than a small uneasy knot deep in the pit of his chest, and so he’d decided to buy the thing, just to ease his mind. 

And then it's turned out that he's pregnant, after all. Fuck.

The second thing is: the – the _father_ of the baby.

Of course Patrick knows who it is. He hasn’t slept with anyone else in months, maybe even a year.

He sinks to the floor and buries his head in his hands, still holding on to the test stick like it’s an anchor.

If you’d told him in his rookie year that there would come a point when he'd start doing a casual buddyfucking thing with Jonathan Toews, that it would turn into him being too lazy to even pick up and bang anyone else for an entire year, and then getting knocked up with Jonny’s kid, well. Patrick would have laughed himself stupid, and then told you to fuck off.

And yet – here he is.

 _Here we are,_ he thinks, and puts a hand – the hand that’s clutching the stick – on his perfectly flat, flawlessly taut, utterly betrayed belly.

\---

Erik Johnson jostles him in the dressing room, while they’re pulling their pads on. It’s nothing he’s never done before, playfully shoving at teammates, but he’s like twice Patrick’s size and Patrick’s kind of – already off balance mentally here, so of course he stumbles, and then falls right on his ass. He hits the floor with a thud, and it doesn’t hurt because he’s got his pads on already, but he instinctively puts a hand over his stomach. Then he takes it away, because god, he needs to suck it up if he wants to still keep playing in the tournament.

“Shit, Kaner,” Erik says, hauling him up. “You okay? I didn’t mean to shove so hard.”

“You didn’t,” Patrick says, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

Erik looks concerned. “You sure? It’s not like you, to fall over so easily. You still sick?”

The moment Erik mentions it, Patrick can feel the nausea rising at the back of his throat. He swallows against it, and he doesn’t know what shows on his face, but Erik’s frown deepens.

“You look like shit," he says. "What's going on?"

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Patrick says, sitting back down in his stall and grabbing his stick and tape. He begins winding the tape around the blade, toe to heel, letting himself focus on the familiar motions so he won’t throw up right here on Erik’s feet.

“No, I mean – you look kind of pale, man. You’re still sick, aren’t you? Are you gonna be okay to play?”

“Yes, I can damn well play,” Patrick says through gritted teeth. He tries to force himself to relax, because Erik’s just being a concerned teammate. Erik’s a nice guy. He can’t snap at Erik.

Erik hovers awkwardly for another couple of seconds, as if he wants to say something more, but Patrick keeps his head lowered, looking at his hands, smoothly taping around his stick. _Don’t say anything,_ he pleads silently in his head. _I’m good, just don’t say anything else._

Erik moves back a little. “Okay, but you’ve got to go see the team doctors after the game, if you’re still feeling sick.”

“Yeah, I will,” Patrick says. “Thanks, Erik.”

\---

The game is a complete fucking shitshow.

Patrick _knows_ , two minutes into the game, that he’s not clicking with Stepan. It’s not Stepan's fault, he’s trying hard, but it’s just not happening. And then Team Europe scores their first with the very first shot of the game, less than five minutes in, with his line on the ice.

It’s okay, Patrick thinks to himself, furiously chewing on his lower lip. They can still pull this back.

He’s being double shifted on the fourth line and skating with the puck, looking for someone, anyone, when a sudden wave of nausea surges up into his throat; Patrick feels like he’s been punched. And then Draisaitl picks the puck from him, while he’s slowed and distracted, trying to not throw up on the ice.

Two goals to Team Europe, and Patrick just wants to throw up more now.

Torts tells him to sit his ass on the bench and not move until he wants him to, and ordinarily Patrick would have been furious, but now he sits shakily and silently, downing Gatorade and trying to stop his hands from trembling and the fluids coming back up from his stomach.

\---

Torts yells at them all after the game until he’s red in the face, and then he orders Patrick curtly to get out there and talk to the media and “explain himself”, which, what the fuck, Patrick was going to do that anyway, without needing to be told.

“I was going to do that anyway,” he snaps.

“And get yourself to the medical team after,” Torts adds. Patrick ignores him, because what, _now_ he’s concerned for Patrick’s health?

He’s waiting for his turn to go out and face the media when his phone starts buzzing. He pulls it out of his bag, and – it’s Jonny.

Patrick can feel all the blood rush to his face.

“Yeah?” he answers reluctantly.

“Are you okay?” Jonny asks right away. It’s surprisingly quiet on Jonny’s end of the line, which means he must have slipped out of the Team Canada dressing room and found some place quiet to call Patrick, just to see if he’s okay.

It feels kind of – strange, to Patrick, knowing that Jonny’s somewhere in the same arena he is, but not able to come to him or see him.

“Patrick,” Jonny says, and his voice is so gentle and worried that Patrick suddenly feels tears springing to his eyes. The fuck. He tamps that shit down quick, because he’s not about to lose it with Jonny on the phone, while he’s in the middle of the Team USA locker room, he’s _not_.

“I’m okay,” he says, but it sounds hollow even to him. “Just sick.”

“Sick? Shit, that's gotta suck for the tournament. Have you seen your doctors? What’s wrong? Is it bad?”

 _Yeah,_ Patrick thinks hysterically. _It’s really fucking bad, bad enough that after this tourney, I won’t be able to play anymore for the entire season._ Then he stops, because – holy shit, he hasn’t even thought of that. That he’d have to sit out at least one full season.

He’s starting to really well up now, full-blown tears in his eyes and making his vision blurry. He blinks them away furiously. Hockey. He’s going to have to give up hockey, at least for a while.

This fucking _sucks_.

“It’s just a stomach bug thing,” he tells Jonny. _It’s your baby, asshole. I’m having your baby and it’s making me throw the fuck up and cry all the damn time._

But he’d rather die than spring this news on Jonny right before he has to play for his country in their opening game, so he doesn’t say anything, keeping his lips shut tight against all the words that are bubbling up inside of him.

Jonny exhales. “Okay. Go see your doctors. Keep hydrated, okay?” He’s slipped into captain mode, voice taking on that commanding tone he has when he wants his team to do something, and Patrick finds himself nodding before he remembers Jonny can’t see him.

“Yeah, I will. Got to go now. Interviews,” he says, and Jonny makes a soft noise of commiseration.

“I’ll call you after,” he promises.

“’Kay,” Patrick says, and hangs up before he blurts out that he’s baking a Toews bun in his oven.

\---

He goes to the medical team after the media scrum, all dutiful and shit, and sits quietly while Dr. Gibson prods and pokes at him, takes his temperature and blood pressure.

“Huh,” he says. “Your BP’s a little low, Patrick. Do you feel faint, or have any dizziness? Anything like that?”

And – yeah, Patrick’s been getting dizzy spells for a week or so now, ever since the nausea started, so he just nods.

“Okay,” Dr. Gibson says. “I’m going to prescribe you something for the nausea, and something else for the dizziness. It’s probably a gastric virus of some sort, so I can’t give you antibiotics, but I can – “

Patrick tunes him out right about now, because – shit. He can’t take medication now, can he? Because he’s _pregnant_ , and what if he takes the wrong stuff, and it causes –

(In months to come, Patrick will take pride in the fact that there was not a single moment when he’d thought he didn’t want this baby. Despite hockey, despite everything.)

“I can’t,” he bursts out. Dr. Gibson pauses.

“Can’t what?”

“I can’t – I’m pregnant,” he says, and watches the doctor’s mouth fall open.

\---

People have to be told. _Torts_ has to be told, and there is some vicious satisfaction for Patrick when he sees Torts’ face drain of blood and go pale. Then Torts is saying, “Okay, fine, whatever. You should have told us earlier, Patrick, and I’d have scratched you and told you to go home. We’ll work around this. Even if we don’t have you.”

Wait, what? “I’m not going home,” Patrick says blankly.

Torts fixes him with a look that is honestly, positively chilling; and Patrick’s never been scared of him, but he takes an involuntary step back.

“If you think I’m going to put a pregnant person on the ice, you’re wrong,” he says, and Patrick knows there’s no changing his mind. “I’m not going to be responsible if anything happens to you.”

USA PR are briefed; calls are placed to NHL PR; there’s a flurry of discussions between USA management and the various public relations teams about carefully-worded statements that Patrick is left completely out of; and then someone mentions something about Blackhawks PR and Stan Bowman, and Patrick – he just can't deal with any more today. 

“I’m going back to the hotel,” he says out loud, and everyone around the table turns to look at him.

“I’ll tell the Blackhawks myself,” he adds.

Someone he doesn’t know, a lady with brown hair and a tired, harassed face, stares at him. “You really think you want to wait to tell them?”

“Yeah?” Patrick says, raising his chin defiantly. “I’m just – I’m fucking tired, okay. I just want to get some sleep.”

There’s a pause. It’s clear no one wants to deny the pregnant person what he wants, but at the same time, no one wants to let Patrick leave, either.

“The league already knows,” someone else says slowly. “It’s going to get back to the Blackhawks in no time at all.”

All the frustration and stress that Patrick’s been feeling ever since he peed on a stick that morning comes to the forefront, quite abruptly; and he just _explodes_. He’s only dimly aware of standing up, kicking his chair back, before he slams his fists on the table.

“I don’t fucking care,” he spits. “This is _my_ pregnancy, so you all listen to me. I want this kept quiet. I don’t want any statements out, not yet at least. I don’t want _anyone_ who shouldn’t be in the know, to know about this. No fucking statements, no fucking comments. Got it?”

“But, Patrick,” the first woman says, and Patrick turns on her. Clearly, she doesn’t value her life. “We can’t just scratch you from the team without giving an explanation.”

“Why the fuck not?” Patrick demands. “Lower body injury. Here, I’ve planned it for you. Just announce that and nothing else.”

“Uh – “ she begins, and Patrick has had enough of all this bullshit. He turns to the one person whom he knows can help him.

“Dean,” he says to Lombardi. “Tell them to do it, come on. Keep them off my back, and make sure the media doesn’t get wind of this.”

Lombardi folds his hands under his chin, looking at Patrick appraisingly. “Any particular reason for this, Patrick?”

“I don’t want this being out before I – “ Patrick swallows, “before I have a chance to tell the – the father about it.”

There’s an audible intake of breath around the room. It’s the first time a father has been brought up. No one had dared to, or wanted to ask earlier. Patrick hopes they’re now dying to know who it is, because he’s never going to tell them.

“Okay,” Lombardi says, still looking at Patrick. “Do what he wants, people. And, Patrick, make sure you tell… whoever it is, as soon as you can.” A murmur goes around the room, but Patrick’s done here.

“Thanks,” he says, and walks out without a backwards glance.

\---

Patrick’s spent nearly three hours in the stupid meeting, so once he gets back to his hotel he turns on the TV. Canada’s done playing, and in fact when Patrick checks the time on his phone he figures they must be on the way back to the hotel already, but he spends some time watching the goal highlights – all six of them, jesus, fucking Canada – and then he goes to shower still thinking about Jonny’s goal.

He’s stepping out of the bathroom when there’s a knock on his door.

Patrick sighs. There’s only one person it can be; he’s pretty certain his teammates are all in bed by now, and when he swings the door open, it’s indeed Jonny. His face is still flushed – Patrick knows from long experience that the flush won’t go away for several hours more – but he’s smiling and pleased, still in his Canada hoodie and with his Canada bag slung over his shoulder.

“What are you doing here, enemy,” Patrick says, as Jonny comes in without even asking, and sets his bag down on the floor like this is his room.

Jonny rolls his eyes. “Is this what I get for coming by to see how you are?”

“I’m fine,” Patrick says, looking away. His own words are echoing in his head - _tell the father_ \- and there’s this irrational part of him that thinks that if Jonny looks him straight in the eye, he’ll know right away.

“Saw the docs?” Jonny asks. He’s sitting on the bed now, pulling off his shoes, which means he intends to stay the night. Patrick doesn’t think Jonny’s going to want sex – he’s not that much of an asshole to ask for it when he thinks Patrick’s ill – but he’s probably being a paranoid freak and wanting to keep an eye on Patrick while watching game highlights with him until they both drift off. They’ve done that often before, anyway, falling asleep in the same bed and waking up mashed into each other’s sides, even when they hadn't started having sex.

“Yeah,” Patrick manages to say. His throat feels dry, and he walks over to the mini fridge and uncaps a bottle of water.

Jonny watches him as he moves about the room. “You’re a bit pale,” he observes. “Did you get meds? Did they say what it was?”

Patrick _did_ get meds – after he’d made his big announcement to Dr. Gibson, he’d prescribed Patrick some stuff for the nausea that he assured Patrick was safe for use during pregnancy. Patrick’s already made up his mind not to take them, though; he doesn’t want to run any risks at all.

Jonny’s watching him expectantly, and Patrick takes a deep breath, steels himself.

“Jonny,” he says. “Jonny, I’m not sick. I’m pregnant.”

 _Crash, crash._ He can see the impact of the words on Jonny: he freezes, then he actually flinches and rears back, like Patrick’s flung rocks at him.

Patrick clenches his fists. He’s going to fight, if it comes down to that. If Jonny says he doesn’t want this baby, it’s fine, whatever, the both of them were never anything serious anyway, and Patrick’s already determined to have the baby on his own. He’s more than financially capable. But if Jonny actually asks him if he’s the father, he’s going to punch Jonny and throw him out of the room.

To his credit, Jonny doesn’t ask that. It’s like he already knows. Patrick watches as Jonny’s eyes drop involuntarily to his stomach, even though there’s nothing visible there.

“Fuck,” Jonny whispers. “Patrick, are you – you’re sure? This isn’t a joke, is it? I’ll fucking punch you if you’re pranking me here.”

“I’m not, asshole,” Patrick snaps. “I took a test this morning, and it was positive, and then Dr. Gibson ran tests on me again earlier. I’m having a baby.”

The moment the words leave him, he feels – warm, inside. Saying it out loud somehow makes it less scary, gives him more confidence that he can do this. He can have this baby; he can make it work. And – and he’s having a child of his own. A real little life, that he made. _His_ child.

The warmth burns in him, stronger, and so he says it again. “I’m going to have a baby.”

Jonny curls over, and puts his face in his hands. He’s breathing hard, and to Patrick, he looks a lot like how Patrick himself must have looked in the bathroom this morning, while he was holding the positive pregnancy test in his hand and shaking with the reality of it.

“Hey,” Patrick says, going over to Jonny. He puts a hand on his shoulder, and all Jonny does is draw a deep, shuddering breath.

“Hey,” he repeats, louder, and slides to his knees in front of Jonny, and tugs at his hands until Jonny finally takes them away from his face. His eyes are huge and dark, scared; Patrick’s never seen Jonny look like this before.

“Unclench, dude, come on,” he says. “It’ll be okay.”

“Unclench – Patrick,” Jonny whispers. “We’re going to have a baby.” He sounds fucking _terrified_ , and his eyes go to Patrick’s flat stomach again, but Patrick’s too thrown by the ‘we’ to speak at first.

“Yeah, we are,” he says finally. He looks up, right at Jonny, and Jonny looks right back at him. “We’re gonna do this. Or rather, I am.”

“How are we gonna do this?” Jonny says faintly. There’s the ‘we’, again. Patrick is irrationally pleased.

“Just – do whatever we have to, I suppose,” Patrick says, shrugging. He sits back on the floor, curls a hand around Jonny’s knee. “Listen – I know this is a shock, but I want you to know I don’t expect you to, like, do anything. I mean, we can co-parent, obviously, you can pop by my place anytime you want when the baby’s here and you want to see it – not like you don’t already do that anyway – but this is not your fault.”

He says it because he can already see Jonny’s internal freak out, and true to form, Jonny rubs his hand over his eyes. “This _is_ my fault.”

“It’s not,” Patrick insists. It really isn’t. He’s pretty sure they were both into the fucking without condoms thing they had going on for a bit, and neither of them were expecting Patrick to get knocked up on like, pretty much the third time ever they had sex without a condom. And Patrick hadn't even had the chance to start taking birth control before this happened.

“You can’t play hockey now,” Jonny says, and he honestly looks more upset than Patrick feels about this.

“I know,” Patrick says. “But it’s done. I’ll sit out one season, come back next year. You’ll just have to win it without me, captain.”

Jonny looks at him then – really _looks_ , eyes dark and sad, and says quietly, “I can’t win it without you.”

And that’s just – Patrick shouldn't be feeling pleased about this, okay, he should be encouraging Jonny, convincing him the team can do it without him, but.

“But you have to try,” he says out loud. “Come on, Jonny. Man up. You’re a dad now.”

Jonny actually laughs at that, a wet little sound, and then he’s putting his face in his hands again, and panting into his palms. “I’m a – jesus. Fuck, Patrick. I’m a _dad_.”

“Yep,” Patrick says, popping the P, and Jonny takes his hands away from his face to stare at him some more. Patrick’s not expecting it at all when Jonny reaches to put his arms around his shoulders, bent awkwardly over, and pretty much sticks his face in Patrick’s neck.

“Hey - Jonny,” Patrick says, startled, but his hands come up to grasp Jonny’s arms as if of their own accord anyway, and they stay there for a while, just clinging to each other.

\---

“No, but really, how are we going to do this?” Jonny asks into the darkness, much later, after Patrick’s persuaded him to get undressed and get into bed. 

Patrick shrugs. His arm's pressed against Jonny's, so he knows Jonny can feel the movement. "I don't really know," he admits. "Just - I'll have the baby, see how it goes from there."

"Does the team know?"

Patrick knows he's talking about the Blackhawks. "Nope. I'm supposed to call Stan and tell him, but I'm - I can't do it now. Maybe tomorrow. I've got to tell Pat Brisson too."

"I'll call with you," Jonny says, and Patrick can just picture the look on his face right now, the stubborn mulish look that Jonny gets when he's decided he's not going to be moved no matter what.

"No way. It'll look - weird."

"Weird like how?"

"Weird like management's going to ask why you're involved and why you're with me when I make the call?"

Jonny sighs. "Because I _am_ involved. You're not seriously expecting me to just fuck off and not be responsible, are you?"

Patrick rolls his eyes. Leave it to Jonny to bust out words like 'responsibility' and 'fault' and all that, like there was any chance Patrick could expect Jonny to step back and let Patrick handle it alone. 

"You said we're going to do this together, and co-parent," Jonny insists; he must turn to face Patrick, because the mattress rolls and dips next to him, and then Jonny's arm is curving over Patrick's chest, where it stays, a huge warm solid weight. "I can't not tell management, Pat, if I'm to be - I'm going to be a dad."

He stutters over the last word, and Patrick thinks Jonny's going to start hyperventilating again, maybe, but Jonny just presses closer, and Patrick can feel him tuck his face into Patrick's neck and breathe against his skin.

"I'm not going to be a deadbeat dad," Jonny mumbles. "We're getting through this together. And I'll help you, in any way you need, I promise."

Patrick wants to laugh at Jonny saying _deadbeat dad_ , but he manages to resist the impulse. "I know," he says instead. He does know it, too; Jonny's never been one to shy away from challenges, and he's always been there whenever Patrick needs him. It's kind of - humbling, maybe, that Jonny's so determined to do what's right, even if it means he's going to get fucked over as well.

Patrick doesn't exactly intend to do anything sexy or whatever, but he burrows closer to Jonny and slings a leg over him, needing his heat and solidity, and kisses him. He's never kissed Jonny before unless it was a prelude to sex, or in the middle of fucking. But Jonny kisses right back, his mouth opening up over Patrick's, and it's - nice, actually. It's pretty comforting, but then Patrick's dick kind of decides to come to life, and press into Jonny's thick thigh.

They do end up trading handjobs while kissing; and then after that Jonny sits up in bed and has another minor freakout about the moment he'd pressed Patrick into the bed, his weight on Patrick's torso while Patrick shuddered and came all over Jonny's fist, and Patrick just rolls his eyes and smacks Jonny on the shoulder with the dirty cloth he was using to clean his hand and tells him to go to sleep already.

\---

Jonny doesn't have practice the next day, and Team USA does, but Patrick figures that he'll be told to go away if he shows up; and anyway, he doesn't really want to see Torts or anyone else right now.

Jonny stirs awake about an hour after Patrick's up, and blinks blearily at him and the remains of a room service breakfast on the writing desk. "Any left for me?" he rasps.

"Nope," Patrick tells him cheerfully. "I was hungry so I ate everything." It's true - his appetite's definitely increased in the last few weeks and he's been feeling like he just wanted to devour everything in sight, even though he didn't know _why_. He'd been controlling his diet like always; but now that he knows it's because he's pregnant, he feels perfectly entitled to scarf down everything he can get his hands on if he feels like it.

Jonny blinks; and then his gaze sharpens all at once, like he's gathering all his focus to zoom in on Patrick or something.

"Oh," he says. "Yeah, you should - you need to eat."

He swings his legs out of bed and stands up; Patrick lets his eyes run over Jonny's naked body appreciatively, and he can feel his cock stirring a little. Whatever, Jonny's hot anyway, Patrick's never tried to deny that. Jonny disappears into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and stays in there for a long while. It takes him forever to come back out, and when he finally does, the first thing he does is to start pulling on a pair of shorts. Patrick tries not to feel disappointed.

"I'm going to get some food," Jonny says, and shoves the room service menu in Patrick's face. "You want anything else too?"

Patrick thinks about it. The omelette had been pretty good. So were the sausages and mashed potatoes, actually. He decides to allow himself to eat something his meal plan never includes, and taps at the menu with a finger. "This," he says.

"French toast?" Jonny asks in disbelief, poking his head round to see where Patrick's pointing at.

"Yeah," Patrick says, lifting his chin. "I want it. With extra maple syrup." And now that he's thought of it, he _really_ wants it, too.

Jonny's face twists a little, like he's about to start on his spiel about white bread and processed sugar and all that jazz, and he looks like he's holding it in with some effort.

Patrick hides a grin. "It's got fruits," he says helpfully. "Look, it says it comes with strawberries and blueberries, and it has _maple syrup_. It's the food of your people, Jonny!"

"You're ridiculous," Jonny says, but his voice is fond and his mouth quirks up in a smile, and he orders it for Patrick anyway.

He's stuffing the French toast down his gullet - and man, is it _good_ or what, Patrick doesn't know if he's just been deprived of sinful food for too long or if it really is just that good, but he doesn't care - when Jonny puts his fork and knife down on his clean plate, and clears his throat.

"What?" Patrick asks. It comes out garbled around a mouthful of brioche and maple syrup.

"So, uh," Jonny says hesitantly. "How - do you know how far along are you? And when you're, you know. Due?"

Patrick raises an eyebrow at him and puts his own cutlery down too. "Were you _googling_ in the bathroom, is that why you were in there so long?"

Jonny flushes. "Maybe," he says. 

Patrick feels a surge of fondness welling up in him. There have been a lot of times over the years when he's been frustrated with Jonny's overcompetitive streak, but he's always been fully on the same wavelength as him about needing to be the best at everything, and it's clear that Jonny's decided to be just as determined about being good at fatherhood as he is about all other things. Even if it's just his buddy getting pregnant and not like, his actual wife or husband.

"I don't actually know," he admits. "It's not like we've got the equipment here to check, and Dr. Gibson isn't trained in male pregnancies. He gave me a referral to an OB-GYN back in Chicago, though, and I'll go see her once I'm back there."

"Give me her name," Jonny says, pulling out his phone and looking at Patrick expectantly.

"Are you actually going to google her?" Patrick demands.

"I just want to see if she's got any bad reviews," Jonny says, looking shifty.

Patrick sighs and spells her name for him. "I don't understand what you think will happen, Jonny," he says. "She's recommended by Dr. Gibson, do you really think she's going to be some quack doctor in a back alley?"

“No," Jonny says. "But I just want to make sure." He looks up from his phone, straight at Patrick, and keeps his eyes locked on Patrick when he adds, "I don't want anything bad happening to you. Or to the - the baby."

Patrick feels that warm rush of fondness again. "You dork," he says, but there's no heat to it, and he can't help but smile helplessly at Jonny.

Jonny smiles right back. "Do you have any idea yourself, though?" he asks. "When do you think you're due?"

\---

"Oh my _god_ ," Patrick moans. He's panting into his pillow, hands fisted in the sheets on either side of it. He can barely keep his eyes open, he's completely caught up in the feel of Jonny's fingers twisting slowly inside him. "Yeah, like that - that's it, Jonny."

He's already slurring, and maybe he should be a little more embarrassed about how fast Jonny's brought him here. But then he can't really be bothered, not when Jonny's long, perfect fingers are fucking him in strong, precise strokes, opening him up.

Jonny hums behind him, and Patrick feels it when he slides his tongue between the open vee of his fingers, warm and wet and absolutely dirty fucking pool.

"Jonny," he gasps, clutching at the sheets, "Jonny, Jonny, _fuck_ \- "

Jonny keeps right on eating him out, his fingers holding Patrick open for his tongue, and Patrick feels like his spine has melted right out of his body, because he collapses on the bed, his knees too shaky to hold him up any longer.

"Get your cock in me," he says, face pressed into the pillows. He's not sure if Jonny can even hear him, but he reaches back anyway, twists his hand into a fistful of Jonny's short hair. "In me, _now_ , Jonny."

Jonny licks at him one last time, and bites into the muscle of his hip for good measure. It makes Patrick shudder, and then he feels the mattress shift as Jonny straightens, his fingers still in Patrick. It takes some contorting, but he manages to keep them inside while he leans over and reaches towards the nightstand. Patrick cracks an eye open just in time to see Jonny frown as he pulls out the bottle of lube, and continue rummaging in the nightstand for a bit more.

"Patrick," he says. "Where are your - did you move your condoms?"

Fuck Jonny for making Patrick _think_ at a time like this when his fingers are filling Patrick up so good and he's going to finally get his cock in him. 'I don't know," Patrick groans. "I always put them there."

"I know, but you don't have any - oh, shit, we used the last one this past weekend. I threw the empty box away. Thought you'd buy more."

"Well, I didn't," Patrick snaps. His lovely sex buzz is receding by the second, and he's going to throw something at Jonny if he doesn't get Jonny's cock inside him soon. "If you knew I ran out, why didn't _you_ buy any?"

"I forgot," Jonny says, looking apologetic. He sighs, and looks down at where his fingers are sunk three knuckles deep in Patrick, and wiggles them a little, like he's trying to pull them out. Patrick arches and moans and fucks himself right back on them.

"Okay, okay - just, whatever, you're clean and I'm clean, just do it, man," he gasps. It's probably not the best and brightest idea he's had, but he's just - way beyond caring, now. Fuck Jonny for working him up like this and then not wanting to do him just because they don't have condoms.

"Seriously?" Jonny says, like he can't believe Patrick's offering himself to be fucked bareback. Jonny knows he's got the gene, of course. It's never been a problem before.

"Yes," Patrick says, his teeth gritted. "I'll kill you if you leave me like this. Fuck me _right now_."

Jonny does. And Patrick doesn't know if it's his fevered, sex-drunk imagination or what, but it feels a thousand times better skin on skin. He can feel the ridges of Jonny's cock, the way his thick cockhead rubs up and down inside him. Jonny comes first, and it's - different, but so incredibly _good_ , the hot flood of his come rushing into Patrick, and then the slow viscous trickle of it down his inner thighs as Jonny pulls out.

"Holy shit," Jonny says, sounding every bit as wrecked as Patrick feels, and then he slides his fingers back into the wet mess inside Patrick, and fingers him until he comes hard, gasping and moaning and squeezing down tight on Jonny's knuckles.

It's so good that Jonny fucks him bare again the next morning, before he's had a chance to run out for breakfast and buy condoms. And then - well, he forgets to buy them again, or whatever, and so does Patrick, and the next time they hook up two weeks later, Patrick just groans and flings an arm over his eyes.

"I'll just ask Dr. Terry to put me on some kind of birth control, okay. This is all your fucking fault, I never want to go back to condoms again, now that I know what it's like without them."

"But - "

"I'm not fucking anyone else for the time being, and neither are you," Patrick says, exasperated. "When we actually manage to pick up then yeah, you're not putting your cock in me without a rubber, but for now we don't need to overthink this, okay?"

"No, I mean - " Jonny looks pained, and like he's absolutely torn between the need to fuck Patrick and the need to be careful. "You - your - is it even _safe_ for you?"

Oh, Patrick thinks. He gets what Jonny's driving at now.

"I'm not going to get pregnant, Jonny," Patrick says with a sigh. "I'm not _that_ unlucky."

Famous last words.

\---

"Do you remember back in June, before you went back to Winnipeg?" Patrick asks. "We messed around a few times because we kept forgetting condoms, and I never managed to go to Dr. Terry?"

Jonny frowns a little. "Yeah."

"I think it was then," Patrick says. 

"What," Jonny says flatly. "Pat, we hooked up like, what, three times before I went home."

Patrick shrugs. "It's one of those times then."

Jonny's eyes are huge, disbelieving. "It was just - _three_ times."

"I guess I jinxed myself when I said I wouldn't get pregnant," Patrick says, grinning. He can joke about it now, but clearly Jonny still can't, because his mouth falls open, and then he swipes his hand over his face and leaves it there. He's breathing hard into his palm with his head lowered, looking the very picture of a man in despair, and Patrick does not need the father of his kid having a spectacular collapse while Patrick himself is perfectly fine.

"Okay, we talked about this," Patrick says, pushing his chair back from the desk and turning towards Jonny. "You need to chill."

He tugs Jonny's hand away from his face, and when Jonny looks up at him, his eyes are bright and his cheeks are red from the effort of holding a grin in. "Patrick," he says. "My - oh my god. I practically knocked you up in like, _minutes_. I have the fastest damn swimmers ever."

"What the fuck," Patrick says, blinking at him. "You smug asshole, you - " he kicks out at Jonny, and in the past Jonny would have kicked back, or shoved at him, or something like that, but now all he does is grab hold of Patrick's foot, hand curving around the ankle and thumb against the ankle joint, and smile.

"So, if I'm right," Patrick says, wiggling his toes, "the kid should be here in April. Gotta make sure when I see the baby doctor though."

Jonny's still smiling. "Make it the end of April, so we can share birthdays."

"No fucking way," Patrick says, wrinkling his nose at Jonny, who only tosses his head back and laughs.


	2. part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot to mention this in my author's notes for chapter 1, but HUGE THANKS to maccahawk23 - she's the one who's responsible for birthing (pun intended, heh) this fic! one fine day in 2016 when we were watching the WCOH she casually said to me, hey what if patrick's not playing so well because he's pregnant? AND THEREFORE NOW WE HAVE THIS \o/
> 
> also if you have not read it, please check out svmadelyn's mpreg fic [I Got a Love (That Keeps Me Waiting)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183991/chapters/2415784), which I consider _the_ seminal mpreg fic of the 1988 fandom, a true fandom classic, and in fact was a big inspiration for this fic for me.
> 
> while i'm at it, i'm going to give a shoutout to another amazing mpreg fic that's in the works, [Bower](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24263977/chapters/58476100) by trademarkgiggle - this is another fic that, when it's finished, is going to go down as a fandom mpreg classic too - so definitely check it out!
> 
> and a shoutout for great art: heartstrings made [this absolutely GLORIOUS graphic](https://anotherashley.tumblr.com/post/621547599016656896/every-piece-of-me-and-you-by-kanerboo) for this fic - I am totally in love with the gorgeousness of it and everyone should be too!!! check it out on her tumblr and show it some love, because man, I was floored over by how amazing it is when she first showed it to me, and i'm still not over it!
> 
> lots of love too, to both heartstrings and trademarkgiggle, for betaing this fic for me and beating all the britishisms and terrible errors and poor sentence structure out of it! you guys are HEROES <333
> 
> last but not least, thank you to everyone who is reading and following this!

They have to make a ton of calls after breakfast - to Pat Brisson, to Stan Bowman, to their moms. God, they have to tell their _mothers_. Patrick feels - he's already made up his mind not to regret his baby, but he knows it's going to be mortifying.

He stares at his iPhone in his hand. "Who first?" he asks Jonny, who's looking kind of pale; Patrick hopes he doesn't go back to freaking out and maybe going crazy in the middle of his hotel room.

Jonny swallows. "Pat first, I think," he says, and his voice is steady despite his face. "He'll be able to help us smooth it over with the Hawks."

Brisson picks up on the first ring, as if he's been sitting by the phone waiting for Patrick to call. It makes him panic a little, like shit, is the news already out? Then Brisson says, "Hey, Patrick", all warm, and Patrick gives himself a little shake. Of course Brisson doesn't know yet. If he did, he wouldn't sound this pleasant, Patrick's sure.

"Pat, I've got something to tell you. Jonny's here with me, too."

"Oh?" Brisson says. "You guys still unhappy about that one extra dollar I negotiated for Patrick?" He laughs at his own lameass joke.

Ten minutes later, he's no longer laughing.

"Okay, let me get this straight," he says, and he sounds absolutely incredulous still, even though both Patrick and Jonny have repeated themselves hoarse. "You're pregnant. With Jon's kid. And you're not getting married. You're not even _dating_."

Patrick sighs. "I said this like, four times." 

Brisson doesn't say anything else for a while, and just as Patrick's about to speak, he says, "Okay, well", all brisk, and sounding much more like their competent, take-charge attorney and agent. "I suppose you'll need me to arrange a press conference. A statement first, before that, I think?"

"Actually, we were hoping you could sort of maybe give Stan a heads-up about this," Jonny interjects. "We haven't told him yet, or anyone in management."

There's a groan from the other end of the line. "God, you boys don't pay me enough for this," he says. "Okay. Leave it to me."

Patrick hesitates a little. He really wants to be the one to tell Stan, to be honest; Stan's been like a father figure to him since the day he arrived in Chicago and moved into his basement, and he doesn't think something like this should get to Stan through their agent. "I don't think - " he begins, but Jonny reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.

"It's better for Pat to tell Stan," he whispers. "They can work out together what our next steps should be, before letting us know what we should do."

"What's that, Jonny?" Brisson asks.

Patrick swallows. "Nothing," he says; Jonny squeezes him again. "We'll do whatever you think is needed, Pat. Thanks."

"Okay," Brisson says. "I'll work something out with Stan, and I'll draft a statement and send it over to you guys for your approval by tomorrow. Patrick, when are you going back to Chicago?"

"I don't know," Patrick says. "I mean, Team USA management said they wouldn't let me play anymore, but they didn't give me leave to go back either, and I'm - not sure what they want me to do, actually."

"Yeah, okay," Brisson says; Patrick's pretty sure he's taking notes right now. "I'll talk to them too, then let you know when you can go back. It'd be safer for you to be home when the news comes out. Patrick, you know I'll do my best, but I doubt this can be kept under wraps for long."

"I guess," Patrick says. "We just have to make sure we have that statement ready, and Stan okays everything, and a presscon if we need it."

"Oh, we'll need it all right," Brisson says darkly; and then he orders them both to stay out of any more trouble while he gets shit done for them, and hangs up.

Patrick's phone buzzes again a few minutes later; when he picks it up, it's a message from Brisson. _Take care, Patrick. And you should try these, if you get sick. My wife swore by them._ It's accompanied by a link to a brand of whole wheat crackers, and another link for ginger tea.

Patrick's kind of sceptical, but he's not going to turn down any suggestion in case the whole nausea thing starts up again soon, so he sends back a _Thanks_ , and bookmarks the sites right away for closer inspection later.

\---

They call Patrick's mom next, and this Patrick is absolutely not looking forward to.

"Hi, darling," she says, and almost immediately Patrick can feel himself welling up. Fuck this bullshit.

"Hey mom," he says, trying not to choke up, but his mother being his mother, she picks up on it right away.

"You did good, Pat," she says. "Don't go blaming yourself, you hear me? That coach doesn't know what he's doing, your dad was so mad when he saw you on that line, it was just - "

"Mom," he says, heading her off at the pass before she goes into a full-blown rant about the team and the management and everything else. "Mom, I'm. I'm pregnant."

His mother goes deathly quiet.

"I just - it was an accident, but it's happened now, and I'm not going to - I'm having it, okay?"

She draws a deep, rattling breath. "Patrick. Oh my god." 

"Yeah, so," Patrick says, his face burning. "We'll tell Stan soon, get a statement out or something. I'll have to - I'm gonna sit the season out."

"We?" his mother says.

"Uh," Jonny speaks up; he's been quiet all this while. "He means us, Donna." He puts his hand on Patrick's shoulder again, but instead of squeezing it as he had earlier, he slides it across his shoulder blade and onto the nape of his neck, where it stays there, hot and steady. Patrick lets himself lean into it a little, lets it ground him with Jonny's solidity.

"Jonathan? Is that you?" His mother's voice is steadily rising in pitch with every word.

"Um. Yeah," Jonny says, and Patrick has never heard him sounding so shaky, ever.

Donna begins to cry, sobbing into the phone hysterically, and Patrick can't help it - he starts crying too, sniffling and roughly rubbing his fists over his eyes, feeling like he's ten again and still needing his mom. He can't even blame it on hormones, or anything like that - it always sets him off seeing or hearing his mom and sisters cry. Jonny tightens the hold he has on the back of Patrick's neck, fingers flexing against his skin.

But then Patrick starts making out words in the incoherent mess of sobs his mom's sending through the line, and they sound suspiciously like "happy" and "finally" and other things that make him feel more cold dark dread than anything else.

"Mom," he says, voice thick through his tears. "Mom, hold up."

"What?" 

"What were you saying?"

"I'm just so happy the both of you are finally together, and having a baby," his mother sobs.

And - whoa, what? That was most certainly not in the conversation, or in any of the equations Patrick had in his head. He steals a glance at Jonny, and Jonny's looking just as bewildered as he feels.

"We're - Mom, where did you get that idea? We're not - like that. We're not a couple."

"But - you're having a baby with him," his mom says.

"Yeah," Patrick says, nodding his head vigorously even though he knows his mother can't see him. "I told you, it was an accident. We're not - we aren't anything at all."

His mom is silent for a loaded second, and then she says, her voice like the crack of a whip: "Patrick Timothy Kane, are you saying that you got yourself pregnant on, what, a fling? With _Jonathan_?"

This is the single most excruciatingly embarrassing moment of Patrick's life, having to explain to his mother that no, he and Jonny aren't dating; yes, they did have sex, that's how you get babies (Patrick wants to crawl under a rock and never come out again); no, they aren't intending to get married; yes, they'll work out how to bring a kid up together when they're not _together_.

Patrick's more shellshocked than upset by the time his mom finally hangs up; but the good thing is, she's promised to tell his dad instead of making Patrick go through the whole discomfiting talk again ("trust me, Pat, your father's not going to want to know the details of your _thing_ with Jonathan"), and she's not, at least, upset about her only son being pregnant. Patrick thinks she's probably more scandalized at the idea that he's having his kid out of wedlock, than his pregnancy itself.

She ends it by telling Jonny that he needs to be better and more responsible. Patrick can see Jonny's face literally turn dark as the line goes dead, and shit, he doesn't think Jonny's ever been accused of being irresponsible in his entire life.

"Well," he says out loud, hoping to distract Jonny, "that was rough." Jonny turns towards him immediately, eyes narrowed, and looks over Patrick from top to toe.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks, getting up as if he intends to go over and - physically inspect Patrick, or something. At any other time it'd probably have been quite sexy; not right now, though. 

Patrick leans back a little. "No, I'm good," he says quickly. "Really, I'm fine. That was just - pretty rough."

"Yeah," Jonny agrees. "Your mom, man." He takes his phone from the desk, and then stands there for a while, looking down at Patrick, until Patrick starts to frown and shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"What?" Patrick says, maybe a tad defensive.

"I'm going to call my mother now," Jonny says; before Patrick can react, he steps towards the door.

"Where are you going?" asks Patrick. He hates that his voice has gone from defensive to maybe the teeniest bit whiny.

"Outside. I'm going to - I need to talk to her on my own, okay?" 

Patrick blinks at him, and Jonny stares right back. He's - well, he's not too certain, but he thinks Jonny's trying to save him from the sheer mortification of having to tell Andree about how her son has been fucking him on and off for years, and how they got themselves into their current predicament.

"Okay," Patrick says, and just as Jonny opens the door, he adds softly, "thanks, Jonny." 

Jonny shoots him a smile, and he goes.

\---

It's nearly forty minutes before he comes back, and he's actually shaking a little. Patrick catches it when Jonny puts the card key and his phone on the desk, and his fingers are trembling. Patrick sits up and turns the TV off. "Hey," he says.

Jonny scrubs a hand over his face. "Hey," he replies.

Patrick lifts a corner of the covers. "Come here," he tells Jonny, and watches as Jonny slides into the bed and immediately presses his face to Patrick's hip, right next to where the kid should be cooking.

He doesn't say anything for a while, just lets Jonny lie stiffly next to him with just his face against Patrick, his breath warm through Patrick's t-shirt. He knows Jonny will talk to him when he's good and ready, but he always needs to let it stew for a bit in his brain first. So all he does is drop his hand to Jonny's head and card through his short hair with his fingers.

"She was okay with it, you know," Jonny says eventually, voice muffled into the cotton of Patrick's tee. "I think she was pretty happy. She said there wouldn't be any other way she'd get grandkids from me any time soon, anyway." He laughs a little, and the tight, tense knot in Patrick's chest kind of eases; Andree's watched him grow up since he was twelve, pretty much, and her approval is important to him, especially when it's something as huge as this.

"Then why are you - " Patrick begins tentatively.

Jonny sighs. "I don't know. It's just - my mom can be like your mom, you know? Worse, even."

"Did she start yelling at you too about being irresponsible and your unsafe sex practices?" Patrick jokes.

"She asked if we were getting married," Jonny says. He rolls over onto his back and looks up at Patrick, mouth quirked in a grin. "Obviously I told her I'd pick a better wife than you."

"Fuck you, _wife_ , as if you ever could," Patrick says, jabbing a sharp elbow into Jonny's ribs and making him yelp.

"No, but seriously, she asked you to call her. When you're ready, she said. Or if you want any sort of help or advice."

Patrick's touched. "Yeah, I will." He stretches his legs out and shifts his hips from side to side, trying to work out the knot in his back from sitting too long on a soft bed; his pecs have been aching too, truth be told, and they're feeling kind of tender right now, but Patrick thinks it might be a little too much if he starts massaging his chest in front of Jonny.

After a while, Jonny shifts so he's on his side, tucked close to Patrick, and slides a big warm hand down his back, pressing in firm circles against the tensed muscle. Patrick hasn't even said anything about his back aching, and Jonny just seems to - know, with the same unerring instinct he has for Patrick on the ice, the way he knows exactly where Patrick is, and how he can tell at a glance where Patrick's twinging just from the way he moves, or favours one side when he skates and shoots.

There's a little pang in his heart each time he thinks about hockey.

"Hey, Jonny," he says out loud.

"Yeah?"

"Do you - " he has to pause to swallow - "mind? That I've got to be out so long? And I can't - help the team out?"

Jonny stares up at him incredulously. "No? No way, whatever gave you that idea?"

"It's all you care about, dumbass. You only think about hockey, and winning."

"I do not!" Jonny says. "And anyway - it's not _all_ I care about. I mean, there are other things now, that I've got to - I need to focus on working at things other than hockey now." He drops his eyes, and when Patrick follows where he's looking, he's staring at Patrick's still-flat belly.

Patrick feels kind of - warm, all over, and maybe a little teary again. God, this pregnancy business is bullshit.

"You're paying for college, I hope you know that," he says in a bid to distract himself. "Get ready to set up a trust fund or something, Toews."

Jonny blinks. "I was going to do that," he says, a little too quickly; Patrick would bet he hadn't even thought about things like college funds before he'd said that. And then he stops rubbing Patrick's back long enough to roll out of bed and grab his phone; and as Patrick watches, he types in a reminder to himself to call his lawyer and his accountant, when he's back in Chicago.

And - damn, Jonny is dead serious about this whole dad thing.

Patrick turns on the TV just so he can watch something and not think about how he's going to tear up again. But then his stomach rolls a little, and he has to get out of bed and go to the bathroom and stand over the toilet, trying not to throw up. At least he manages not to, this time.

\---

After dinner - still room service, but the steak frites was good and the tiramisu was fantastic, and so was the additional scoop of salted caramel ice cream he'd added - Patrick gets his laptop out while Jonny goes to shower. He types in the links Pat Brisson had texted to him, and decides to spend some time looking through the reviews of the stuff online. No point in buying any of these if they don't work, or if they'll have some side effects, right?

Jonny pulls on a pair of boxer briefs when he's out of the bathroom and climbs into the bed next to Patrick, which means he intends to stay the night again. Patrick's not sure what's up with that, considering he'll have to get up at ass o'clock in the morning to go to Team Canada practice, and there could be teammates who might think that it'd be a good idea to go along to his room and wake him up. But Jonny doesn't look at all concerned, just sets his alarm and puts his phone under his pillow, so Patrick mentally shrugs and goes on with his research.

Jonny looks over his shoulder at his laptop. "What's that, tea?" he asks. 

"Some stuff Pat said his wife used," Patrick says. "He said it'd help with, you know. The puking."

"You're _puking_?" Jonny says.

"That's what pregnant people do, Jonny. We puke. It's normal."

"How often? A lot?"

Patrick shrugs. "Mainly after meals, but it comes on and off throughout the day, you know?"

Jonny starts getting the crazy intense eyes, and before Patrick can tell him to chill out, he stands up and begins pulling on his Team Canada hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. "I'll be back," he says, swiping his wallet and key card from the desk, and leaves.

Patrick blinks at the closed door. "Weirdo," he says out loud, and goes back to taking notes on his laptop about brands of tea and vitamins and whatever. There's really - a lot, like way too much for Patrick to absorb at one go, so about twenty minutes into his research he decides to put everything he has questions about down in a Google document, and ask his baby doctor about all of them when he has his first appointment.

The problem with looking at food that supposedly helps morning sickness - there are suggestions like frozen watermelon and pretzels and even popsicles - is that it makes him feel like he wants to nibble on something again. He looks at the room service menu, genuinely considering ordering something else, but then a wave of nausea hits him right like clockwork, and he shelves that idea fast.

Jonny comes back while Patrick's in the bathroom, sulking next to the toilet. "Patrick?" he says, poking his head in, and looking worried.

Patrick waves a hand at him. "I'm fine," he says, and heaves himself upright; he stumbles a little, dizzy with the blood rushing out of his head, and Jonny catches hold of him and tucks him into his side.

"Shit," he says. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Patrick replies; and he's not lying, the dizziness is already passing. "I'm fine. Dr. Gibson said this happens."

"Try this," Jonny says, and shoves a couple of bright yellow boxes at him.

"What's this?" Patrick asks warily.

"Went to the Rexall nearby. They didn't have ginger tea or crackers, but I asked the person there, and she suggested trying these. They're Lemonheads candy - she said the sourness would help."

Patrick's absurdly touched. "Thanks, man," he says, deciding against telling Jonny that the Rexall he was at is probably the same one he bought his pregnancy test kit from. "Hey, remember when we did that ridiculous commercial together for Lemonheads?"

Jonny grins at him. "You mean the one where I won all the shots we had to take during filming?"

"You can't _win_ a commercial, idiot," Patrick says.

"Well, if you could, then I'd win that."

Patrick rolls his eyes; only Jonny would get competitive over shooting a commercial. He tears open one of the boxes and pops a round candy into his mouth; and then he scrunches up his face and lets his mouth fall open, because holy damn, they are _sour_ as hell.

"Shit," he says. He's sure he spits a little, because there's a whole lot of saliva building up in his mouth, like it thinks it needs to dilute and neutralize this shit pronto.

Jonny starts laughing at him, and Patrick takes back all the nice feelings he'd been having about him and scowls.

\---

By noon the next day, Patrick's taking those lemon drops like a boss. He barely winces when he pops one in his mouth now, and maybe it's just a placebo effect or whatever, but they do seem to help with keeping the nausea at bay.

\---

Jonny's off at practice and Patrick's alone in his hotel room with the TV on; his phone beeps and he looks at it, thinking it's Jonny, probably, but instead, it's a text from his father. 

Shit. He sits up in bed and thumbs the message open.

 _I hope you've thought this through instead of acting on impulse like you always do_ , is the very first sentence, and Patrick - he feels like a cold hand's wrapped itself around his chest, squeezing the breath out of him. Fuck this. Fuck everything.

He forces himself to read the rest. _I can't believe hockey would be so unimportant to you that you'd be willing to sit a season out. You're my son, and you know I only want the best for you, but this is downright irresponsible of both you and Jonny, and I'm very disappointed. If you've made up your mind, then so be it, but I hope you don't regret it._

Patrick's shaking by the time he finishes reading; he fists his phone tight enough for his knuckles to whiten, and stares down at his hands, biting his lip. His hockey hands. His mind flashes back to the day he was fifteen and playing for Honeybaked, and the huge fight he'd had with his father then, when he'd told him he didn't need him to be a coach, but to be _his dad_.

And - fucking hell. He can't even do this for Patrick, even now, even after so many years and trophies and accolades. He blinks the rising tears away. Fucking _hell._

At least there's one thing he knows: Jonny's not going to be that kind of father.

When Jonny returns from practice later, cheerful and flushed from it, bringing with him more Lemonheads and croissants he'd got from goodness knows where for Patrick, he stops short when he sees Patrick's face and swollen eyes. "What happened? Why are you - are you alright?"

"Yes," Patrick lies. "Just had a bout of nausea right before you got in. Hey, you got me croissants?"

"Yeah," Jonny says, dropping the box in front of Patrick before he's stooping to look him in the eye; he cups Patrick's face in his hand, looking at him closely. "You sure you're okay?"

Patrick lets his eyes flutter shut as he leans helplessly into Jonny's touch. His hand is warm and comforting and it's exactly what Patrick needs right now. "Yeah, I'm good," he says. 

"Okay," Jonny says softly, but he leaves his hand where it is. Patrick allows himself to nuzzle into Jonny's palm for exactly two more seconds before he sits back upright.

"And for god's sake, take a shower," he adds, before Jonny can say something again. "Your equipment isn't fragrant and I have a sensitive nose now."

Patrick's never seen Jonny get into the shower this quickly; he can't help but laugh, and it does make the bitter ache in his heart ease a little.

"Hey," he says casually when Jonny emerges, halfway through a bite of warm buttery croissant. "You know you're gonna be a really good dad, right?"

Jonny stares at him. "Patrick, are you _really_ fine?"

"I'm giving you a compliment, just take it."

"Never said I wasn't taking it," Jonny says, and his face splits into a grin. Patrick smiles back at him.

\---

USA plays Canada the next evening, and Patrick has to stay in his hotel room and watch the pre-game interviews on ESPN. As he'd expected, it's nearly all about him and his "lower body injury". Patrick fiddles with his box of Lemonheads - he's taken to carrying it around with him, like it's an amulet or talisman - as Torts is asked about Patrick Kane being scratched from the roster.

"He's got a lower body injury, and that's all I've got to say on this matter," Torts says curtly to some reporter.

Another reporter disregards him, and comes barging in asking, "How did he get injured? He looked fine in the game against Team Europe, no hits on him. He missed practice yesterday and today he's scratched. Is there a link?"

"No," Torts says, looking kind of angry now. "Nothing to do with that. He couldn't practice yesterday."

"What exactly is the nature of his injury?" another beat asks.

Torts sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Look, I'm not at liberty to disclose the nature of his condition, okay? He's got a lower body injury. That's it. Ask me something else now, or this is over."

There's a pause, and then someone else jumps in with a question about Joe Pavelski, and they move on.

Patrick switches over to Sportsnet, feeling totally out of sorts, like he's off balance and can't right himself. Sportsnet doesn't help him with it, though, given that they're interviewing Jonny right now, and asking him about Patrick.

"Uh," Jonny's saying, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, he's a threat, of course, a huge offensive leader for Team USA, but if he's - not in a condition to play, he has to sit it out, right?"

Goddamn Jonny, Patrick thinks uncharitably; if it wasn't for his spawn currently taking up residence in Patrick's belly, he _would_ be out there playing. The one bright spot is how incredibly uncomfortable Jonny looks, all fidgety and nervous, in a way he never is in front of the media. Patrick's known him long enough to parse all his expressions, and the face he currently has on is one that's begging to be asked another question so he can get off the topic of Patrick. It's fine, Patrick thinks to himself, sulky. Let him be a little uncomfortable, it's the least he has to deal with right now.

The media are kinder to him than they are to Torts; someone obliges him by asking about Canada's power play, and he launches into his usual spiel right away.

The rest of the night is a bust. Patrick sits in his hotel room, feeling angry and impotent and completely fucking useless as his country goes down 1-4 and out of the tournament. _Fucking_ Canada. Fucking Jonny. Why did he ever tell Jonny to _just do it_? He can't even fathom what got into him, like hell, he made a stupid mistake and now he's knocked up and can't play for his country, for his team, and the sex wasn't that great anyway - 

He has to stop, because he can't even lie to himself and think that sex with Jonny is bad. It's probably a little too good, in fact.

He wonders idly if Jonny will come to his room tonight, or go back to his, and fantasizes a little about kicking Jonny's ass out the minute he steps in; but then his phone buzzes, interrupting his train of thought, and it's a text from Pat Brisson. 

_Spoke to Team USA management and worked it out. You can come back to Chicago tomorrow or the day after. They want you to be quiet leaving, don't talk to anyone or give any soundbites if you're seen._

Patrick rolls his eyes. He'd been the one telling the team that, for god's sake, and now they're trying to tell him to shut up, as if he doesn't know how to.

There's more to the text: _Stan definitely wants to see both you and Jon. We'll wait for Jon to get back, depending on when he finishes in the tournament, and I'll set up a meeting._

And that - that definitely sounds ominous. Patrick knows he's not going to be traded - his NMC is watertight, and it's against the CBA anyway to trade or move a player who's pregnant instead of putting him on LTIR - but the fact that Stan's not calling or texting him, but wants to talk to him and Jonny face to face, is sort of terrifying. Patrick's going to _die_ if he has to go over the intricacies of his buddyfucking with Jonny in front of Stan and Q and McDonough.

 _OK. Booking flight ASAP. Talk soon_ , he sends back to Brisson, not knowing what else he can say.

His phone vibrates again almost immediately, and at first he thinks it's more from Brisson, but it's Jonny. _Hey. Is it okay if I come over tonight?_

Patrick - he's still kind of pissed, and he's definitely angry at USA being dumped out, but he's also too tired to argue much about anything, and he can be the bigger person for once. Besides, he thinks Jonny might even apologise, as part of the whole 'having to be nice to Patrick to prove he's a non-deadbeat dad' thing he's got going on, and he doesn't want to miss that. So he replies with an _OK_ , and goes to shower.

\---

Jonny actually apologize when they're in bed, but by that time the room's in darkness and Patrick's warm under the covers with Jonny's body a long line of heat against his back, and it's just way too comfy for him to think about gloating.

Plus, he doesn't think he has much to gloat about, anyway, considering that Jonny's team just kicked his country's ass and he couldn't even be on the ice to help.

Jonny presses close to him and wedges his thigh between Patrick's knees, all proprietary and shit, like he's trying to get even closer. He grasps Patrick's hip gently and squeezes a little. "I really am, you know," he says.

"Don't be dumb," Patrick says. "You can't be sorry for doing your job."

Jonny exhales; his breath puffs against the nape of Patrick's neck. "Yeah, I know." He shifts his hand over Patrick's hip, closer to his pelvis, and there's a second where Patrick thinks it could go south to his dick or north to his belly where the baby is. He's - not sure if he's ready for the latter, but he thinks it could be okay.

In the end, Jonny does neither. He settles his hand at the join where it meets Patrick's thigh, and then to Patrick's surprise, he actually kisses him on the back on his neck, just a quick press of his warm lips against the skin there.

"I'll be heading back to Chicago tomorrow," Patrick says. "Pat says we have to have a meeting with Stan when you're back, but he wants me there before the news breaks."

"Yeah, he told me the same thing," Jonny says, sighing. His lips move against Patrick's nape.

"And I thought, I guess I'd like to go see the baby doctor as soon as I can, anyway. Dr. Gibson got me an appointment on Friday. He said it's in the evening, after hours, so hopefully I'm not going to run into people who will recognise me."

"Oh," Jonny says, sounding surprised. "That's fast. Yeah, you should see her." He hesitates a moment, then says quickly, like he's trying to get the words out as fast as possible, "You'll tell me about it, right? How it goes?"

"Of course I will, you dork," Patrick says, not bothering to disguise the fondness in his voice. He likes that Jonny asked this - that he really wants to be involved in this pregnancy, as much as Patrick will let him.

Patrick smiles into the darkness. "I'll tell you everything," he promises, and shuts his eyes to the feeling of Jonny breathing on his neck.

\---

Patrick flies back to Chicago the very next day. He books his ticket in the morning and gets a first class seat on a flight that leaves Pearson in the late afternoon and gets him into O'Hare at just a little before 7 p.m. 

Jonny texts him just before he boards, a simple _tell me when you've landed_ , but in the past Jonny would never have done that, or expected Patrick to keep him informed of his whereabouts. Patrick's not sure if it makes him feel better or worse, knowing that Jonny's only doing this because of the baby.

Pat Brisson's arranged for a driver to pick Patrick up at the airport and get him home, which at least means Patrick doesn't have to wait around for a cab after fighting through baggage and immigration, and risk being recognised. He's got a Giants cap with the bill pulled down over his face, and he's in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt; no one seems to give him a second glance, and he's glad for that, but it's Chicago after all and he's not going to feel safe until he's in his building. He keeps his head down while he waits for the driver; and it's only when he's in the back seat of the car that he lets himself breathe again.

When he unlocks the door of his apartment and steps in, it feels - strange to him, somehow. Like everything was fine and dandy when he'd last left this place for Toronto, but now he's back and his entire world has changed. He's going to have a baby; there's going to be a child running through this apartment, pushing aside the carefully-woven seams of his perfect life and fitting itself into all the spaces; and nothing's ever going to be the same again.

He gives himself a little shake and toes his shoes off. When he passes by his extra room on the way to the master bedroom, he finds himself stopping to look inside. He hardly ever goes in; he uses it mainly as a room for guests, for his parents or sisters when they come to visit, or teammates or friends who want to crash after a night of Call of Duty or whatever. Jonny, though - Jonny hasn't actually slept in this room, not since they started fooling around in their second year in the league. He'd always stay in Patrick's bedroom, spread out on the bed like he owns it, and Patrick hardly even thinks about it anymore, he's so used to Jonny taking over his space.

But the spare room is always kept clean by his cleaning service; it's a nice big space, and Patrick thinks it could be turned into a pretty nice nursery. He'll move the dark furnishings out, get the walls repainted, maybe have a bright mural on one wall. The view is pretty spectacular too, overlooking the river and the skyscrapers of the Loop opposite it, and it faces south so it gets a nice amount of sunlight in both summer and winter.

Then he stops, because - shit, a nursery. There are going to be _so many_ things he needs to do to get ready for this baby and he is not at all ready. He doesn't even know when the baby's coming, how much time he has left. Christ.

So Patrick does the mature thing and decides not to think about it at all; he showers and scrubs the grime of travel off him, and then goes straight to bed.

\---

He wakes up to his phone ringing angrily in the dark.

"God," he says out loud, flinging an arm out to grope for it; and when he brings it to his face, it's Jonny. The time at the top of the phone reads 11:39 p.m.

Oh, crap. He'd forgotten to text Jonny.

"I'm here," he answers reluctantly, his voice gravelly rough from sleep.

"Holy shit, Patrick," Jonny says. It's noisy in the background; he must be in the locker room. Patrick tries to think of his schedule - yeah, Canada should have just finished playing Europe.

"What?"

"What do you mean what - I was worried sick! I texted you a million times!" Jonny says. He sounds furious, his voice low and flat.

"Uh," Patrick says. "I'm sorry, I was just - I fell asleep."

"Are you at home?" Jonny demands.

"Yeah, I told you, I was sleeping. I meant to text you, but I just - I was tired, okay?"

"Don't do that again," Jonny says. He sounds calmer now, but still kind of mad, and Patrick feels bad. Then he catches himself, because why the hell should he feel bad? It's not like he owes Jonny anything; and if he wasn't pregnant Jonny wouldn't give a damn what time he got home from a flight.

"I don't have to do or not do _anything_ ," he snaps. "I'll fall asleep any time I fucking feel like it." He wants to tell Jonny he doesn't own him, and the only reason he doesn't is because even though he's irritated, it's not quite enough for him to escalate this into an actual fight.

"Okay, I got you," Jonny says grudgingly. "I was just - worried. Next time, please try to drop me a text so I know you're alive."

And - whoa. Patrick can probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Jonny's said please to him.

It's just weird. It's all so fucking weird, and Patrick's not sure he likes it. A month ago if you'd asked him what it'd be like having Jonny act all polite and sweet to him, he'd have thought it would be the greatest thing on earth. Now, though - now he just feels strange and off balance, like nothing's right.

"Yeah, okay," he says. "So how was the game?" Hockey, at least, is safe ground.

"Good," Jonny says, and as if on cue, his voice turns pleased. "We won 4-2. We're in the semis against Russia."

"Nice."

"I got two goals."

Patrick has to stifle a laugh; the hopeful note in Jonny's voice is unmissable, and that's still the same, Jonny seeking Patrick's approval and validation. "Good job, bro," he says. "I'd give you a fistbump if I were there."

Jonny laughs, then asks, "You're okay though, right? Have you been sick again? Did you have dinner?"

Ugh, Jonny sounds like his mom. "I'm fine. Just tired. I went to bed the moment I got home, didn't really have time to eat anything."

Jonny makes a disapproving noise. "You have to eat something."

"Yeah, I'm kind of hungry now since some asshole called to wake me and made me think about food," Patrick says; and it's true, his stomach's rumbling a little.

"Okay, order something and go back to bed. Don't get sashimi, or anything with cheese."

"Why?" Patrick demands; he'd just been thinking of looking for a sushi place that was still open.

"Because it may contain illness-inducing parasites that are dangerous for pregnant persons, idiot, especially the raw stuff."

"Illness-inducing - Jonny, how much googling _did_ you do?"

"Enough," Jonny mutters. "More than you did, clearly."

Patrick wants to laugh again; he has to lock that down because at least Jonny cares enough to find this stuff out for him. "Okay, I got it," he says. "Get off the phone, loser. Congrats on the win."

"Yeah, thanks," Jonny says, pleased. "Go eat something and sleep."

In the end, Patrick gets pork carnitas with tacos; he googles it just to be safe before ordering, and it occurs to him when he's sinking his teeth into a warm, soft taco that it's going to be incredibly fucking bothersome if he has to check every bite that goes into his mouth.

So - if Jonny's willing to do it, Patrick's happy to let him take up that job.

Twenty minutes after eating, Patrick has to heave himself out of bed to throw up, and that's at least one out of three tacos down the literal drain. He pops a lemon drop into his mouth, more to get rid of the taste of regurgitated tacos than anything else, and resigns himself to months more of this.

\---

Dr. Stephanie Liu is in her forties, with black hair scraped severely back into a tight bun and a motherly, gregarious bedside manner. Patrick likes her right away, especially when he apologizes for making her and her staff stay back an hour after her clinic is closed just so he can have his appointment, and she just smiles warmly and tells him it's fine and that she stays late often anyway. 

She starts by taking his blood pressure, and then a syringe of his blood, and tells him after that to go to the bathroom in the back to pee into a cup. Patrick does it all easily; he's used to it from all the medical checkups the Blackhawks put him through.

Dr. Liu bustles around for a bit with test strips of stuff, but she keeps talking to him and asking him questions, keeping him occupied. She knows exactly who he is, of course; but she doesn't bring it up at all, except when she mentions that he definitely should keep off the ice except for light skating, and advises him to work with his trainers for a safe workout routine.

Eventually she sits in front of him and her desktop computer, and explains that his samples will be sent to a lab for testing. "Just to make sure there aren't things that there shouldn't be, like sugar in your urine, or a low red blood cell count, things like that." She begins typing away at her computer, and asks, "Okay, Patrick, when was the last time you had unprotected sex?"

"Um," Patrick says, feeling his face heat up right away. Technically the last time was the night he'd told Jonny about his pregnancy and they'd ended up giving each other handjobs, but he doesn't think that's what she wants to know. "Do you mean - uh - "

"Penetrative sex," she says, all business now. It makes Patrick relax a little, because of course this is just business to her, part of her job.

"In June," he says. "Uh, it was without a condom. So I guess - yeah."

"Hmm," she says. "Which date in June, do you remember?"

"Uh - the 17th, 18th, and the 30th," he replies, and this time he knows his face is definitely flaming red.

"Huh," she says. "If we take the latest date, that'd put you at around 12 weeks right now, but - "

"But?" Patrick interrupts. His heart is pounding. What if - fuck, what if something's wrong, what if the baby - 

"It's just that your levels of HCG are a little higher than what I'd expect to see for this date," she says easily. "It's a hormone produced during pregnancy, and generally we can expect to see it within a certain range week to week, but yours is above that range for 12 weeks. It's not a problem and it's not dangerous, don't worry. It could mean that you're further along than we think. And the lab will be able to give us a better analysis than I can do here."

"Oh," Patrick says. It's okay. His kid's fine.

"I'll scan you on the ultrasound, and then we'll have a better idea of how far along you are, and when your baby's due," she says, smiling, and motions to the scanning couch against the far wall of her room, with the ultrasound machine next to it.

Patrick almost trips over himself going to it, getting himself seated and the back of the couch tilted back so he's almost lying down flat. This - this is really what he wants, what he's been looking forward to: to be able to see his baby.

He can't stop shivering on the couch, he's so excited. Dr. Liu just smiles down at him and politely asks him to pull his shirt up so his stomach is exposed. "You okay?" she says when he does as she asks, staring down at his belly. It's still as flat as a piece of paper. 

"Yeah, I'm just - really excited," he answers honestly, and she nods.

"Lots of first time parents feel exactly the same, so you're in good company," she says. "Hang on, this is going to be cold."

And - yeah, fuck, it's cold all right when she applies a thick layer of some squishy gel onto his belly, just above the line of his pelvis. He hisses, unable to help it, and then forces himself to relax as his body warms the gel up rapidly.

"You're doing good," she encourages, pressing some buttons on the machine, and then she places a long wand on his stomach and moves it slowly, gently, over the gel.

Patrick keeps his eyes trained on the video screen, and - it's kind of anticlimactic, actually, because he can't make out anything at all; it's all black and white, and it's kind of blurry. Dr. Liu keeps moving the wand around as well, and just when Patrick feels like he's going to explode with a flurry of questions, she finally says, "Well, that's amazing, Patrick."

"Is it?" Patrick asks; and no one can blame him for sounding doubtful, because he _can't see a damn thing_.

"Yes," she says, and looks down at him. She's smiling broadly. "I see two heartbeats."

It doesn't register for the longest time; he just keeps blinking up at her, his gaze flicking between her face and the video screen. "Two?" he asks slowly.

"Yes, they're right here," she says, and points at a blob on the screen. "See? Here's the head, and this is the umbilical cord. And the other cord here, right behind, and you can just see the other baby, right there."

The undefined blobs coalesce into clear images as Patrick follows Dr. Liu's finger, moving across the screen. He can see it now: a recognisable little kidney-bean shape with a large head and a body that looks like a peanut, and the thick cord trailing from it. And then, right behind it, the head and body of another baby just peeking out, and another line of cord.

His babies. Twins. Holy shit. He's having _twins_. 

The tears rush to his eyes so quickly that he nearly chokes; he blinks them away furiously, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes, because he can't miss this. He has to see.

"They look good," Dr. Liu says. "They're a little more than two inches long now, which is just what we'd expect at this stage, so I think I can say with certainty that you're twelve weeks along, maybe a tiny bit more. That's probably why your HCG levels are high too, because you're carrying twins."

"They're fine?" Patrick croaks, and he can't even be embarrassed about it, or about the tears that are now trickling down his cheeks.

"They're perfectly fine," she replies, smile still firmly fixed on her face. "You can see the heartbeats here - can you tell?"

And yes, yes, Patrick can. He watches the steady, fast rippling of his babies' heartbeats, their tiny bodies fluttering.

He can't speak. All he can do is nod.

"I suppose you'll want me to print the sonogram picture for you to keep?" she asks.

Patrick nods harder. He can't stop crying. He doesn't think he'll stop for a while more.

\---

He has a due date - March 26, 2017 (hah to Jonny - the babies are definitely going to come before his birthday) - or at least that's the approximate date when it's safe for the babies to be delivered, given that male pregnancies can sometimes last up to 44 weeks compared to the 38 weeks for women. Dr. Liu had explained that it's because fetuses tend to grow slower in utero for male pregnancies, and there's a higher risk of babies from male carriers developing lung abnormalities if they're delivered before 38 weeks, in comparison to babies born even earlier to women, although no one really seems to know why. He figures the risk is worse for him, with twins, but after being with Dr. Liu, surrounded by her reassuring aura of competence and quiet calm, he doesn't feel quite so anxious about it - which, all in all, is probably a good thing for both him and the babies. 

He also has a bunch of prenatal vitamins - folic acid, iron, calcium, and god knows what else; and he has the sonogram. It's tucked in an envelope, and Patrick holds it like it's something precious - which it _is_.

He's still shaking as he drives home, and he has to lean against the door of his apartment after it's shut behind him, breathing deeply to calm himself and still the trembling of his hands. His heart's going rabbit-fast in his chest, and it makes him think again of his babies' heartbeats, the strong, steady, visible vibrating of their bodies.

It's only when he's taken a shower and eaten something that he feels calm enough to take the sonogram out. He stares at it for a good long while; it's still all a little unreal to him, somehow, that they're inside him; that he and Jonny made them. It's the weirdest thing he's ever experienced, and at the same time the best and most amazing fucking thing ever.

He snaps a picture of it and sends it to the group chat he has with his sisters first, and then separately to his mother; he very carefully does not think about his father - let his mom deal with that. _Two Kane babies baking! Mark your calendar for March 26!_

Jonny's not playing until the next day, so he also sends the photo to him with the caption _TWINS TWINS TWINS TWINS YAYYYYYY_ , and settles back to wait.

Sure enough, his phone begins ringing approximately twenty seconds later, Jonny's number flashing on the screen. "Hey," Patrick says, and he knows he can't keep the grin out of his voice.

"Patrick, _twins_?" Jonny demands right away. Patrick tries to figure out how he sounds: he doesn't sound upset or worried, at least. 

"I know, I'm amazing," Patrick says, grinning.

Jonny doesn't say anything for a few seconds, but Patrick hears a soft click, and then some rustling. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Putting you on speaker so I can look at the - the picture. Photo."

"It's called a sonogram," Patrick says helpfully. 

Jonny doesn't reply, but Patrick can hear him making these heavy breathing sounds, like he's winded from a bag skate and trying to suck in air. Except that - well, he sounds just like he does when he's fucking Patrick, actually, his mouth on Patrick's jaw and gasping into his skin as he gives Patrick these hard, fast thrusts that shove them both up the bed; and suddenly it's all Patrick can think about. He hasn't really thought about much except his pregnancy for over a week - but now his dick's swelling in his shorts, pushing against the fabric, just from recalling the way Jonny fucks.

"Uh, so," he says, shifting on the sofa so his cock falls into a more comfortable position, "if you're looking at it now, there's baby one at the front, and you can see baby two's head behind him. And, you know, there are two cords, so. There are two babies."

Jonny's breathing gets harder, and so does Patrick's cock. Well, shit.

"They're identical, Dr. Liu thinks," he says desperately. He needs Jonny to say something and stop making those damn noises. "They share a placenta, and, I don't know, there are other things, but she's pretty sure, and she said she'll have another look when I go back for my next scan."

Patrick kind of regrets it when Jonny finally starts talking, because - fuck - his voice is all low and raspy, and it's probably because Patrick's already turned on and projecting, but it makes him sound like he's been blowing Patrick for ages. "Oh my god," he says, exhaling in a loud rush. "Patrick - I - god. This is - this is so amazing."

"I know," Patrick says, "I mean, I made them, after all." He's just babbling, trying to distract himself, but then Jonny laughs, low and smoky.

"It was me, Patrick," he says. "My awesome Canadian sperm helped you make two babies." He's full-on laughing now, and he sounds so incredibly _pleased_ , and delighted, and Patrick finds himself laughing too, and if he's a little breathless, Jonny definitely does not need to know.

"Technically my one egg split into two, _Jonathan_ , so it was all me."

"Yeah, one wasn't enough to contain all the awesomeness of my Canadian sperm," Jonny says, totally matter-of-fact, and Patrick chokes a little.

"You're fucking shameless, you know that?" he says, and he just - he feels so fond of Jonny, despite his dumb everything. "I can't believe you're trying to one-up me about the babies. This is not a baby making competition, Jonny."

"Takes one to know one," Jonny says, still sounding happy and warm, and Patrick lets himself sink into that. He's still hard, and he brings a hand down to cup over his dick, thumb pressed against the head.

"I've got to go now," he says. "Uh - I need the bathroom."

"I have questions, you moron. Piss while talking to me," Jonny says - and, fuck no, Patrick's not even intending to piss.

"What the hell," Patrick says. "I'm not going to - get off the phone, man, I need to go."

"Fine, I'm gonna text you stuff, and you need to answer me," Jonny says. "And - is it okay if I send the picture to my mom?"

Patrick feels a little bad that he hasn't spoken to Andree yet; he hadn't even thought of her when he was sending out the photo to his family and to Jonny. "Yeah, of course. Tell her I'll call her soon, when I can?"

"Yeah, sure," Jonny says. "She's - Patrick, she's going to be so happy. You did good."

God, that's just _cheating_ , right there, even if Jonny doesn't know he's doing it. There have been a million times where Jonny's murmured that wetly against Patrick's body after a really solid orgasm, while Patrick's still shaking with it. He can't even muster a good response to that.

"I know," is all he says. "Gotta go now, dude - " and finally, Jonny hangs up.

Patrick doesn't even bother going into the bathroom - he kicks off his shorts, right there on the sofa, and closes his fist about his dick.

The last time he'd had anything at all was two weeks ago, with Jonny freaking out in his hotel room, so the first touch of his thumb over the wet head is both a relief and intense, shocking pleasure. He strokes himself slowly, fingers rubbing over his cockhead with every stroke, and it's - good, it's just this side of too dry but he doesn't want to get up to look for lube; he licks his palm and fingers to compensate, and that's just right, the slick slide of his hand, just perfect.

He lets himself think about the last time he and Jonny fucked, back in June (it's not really like he has any other recent experiences to think about, to be honest). Jonny had slung his legs over his shoulders and tilted his hips up, and fucked into him in these long, deep strokes that had Patrick gasping and clutching at the bedsheets. Jonny fucks in the best way, all the way in deep until his balls are pushed up against Patrick's ass, nailing his prostate right on with each thrust in.

He brings his free hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers in, getting them good and wet. Thinks about the time Jonny fucked him from behind and pushed four fingers into his mouth just as he was about to come; it tipped him right over the edge and he'd come so hard he would have yelled if Jonny hadn't had his fingers stuffing his mouth full. He remembers sucking hard and frantically on them, coming on Jonny's thick cock and thick fingers, crammed full at both ends, and just completely blissing out on the pleasure. 

Was that when the babies happened? Maybe it was then. Maybe that was the moment Jonny fucked him full of his babies, and they didn't even know it.

His cock's leaking precome, he's so hard; he swipes his wet fingers over the crown of his dick to gather up as much as he can on his fingertips, and lifts his legs, pushing his heels into the sofa and spreading them wide so he can press two fingers against his hole. And yeah, that's it, that's what he likes, rubbing over the soft entrance and feeling it give ever so slightly under the pressure.

Maybe he should grab his dildo - but he really doesn't want to stop right now. He works one finger into himself and can't help it, he lets out a moan into the quiet of his apartment and thinks about the way Jonny fingers him, spreading him wide with his fucking fantastic fingers and opening him up for his cock. He needs to do it the same way; he pushes another finger in, relishing the edge of the burn, until they're both lodged deep inside him to the knuckle.

Fuck, that's good. He can't believe he hasn't been fucked since June. Why'd he ever stop, when it's this good? He should have picked up a couple of guys and stopped relying on Jonny for his orgasms. Except, well, Jonny gives him the best orgasms of his life; Patrick's never been shy to admit the truth.

Even now, just thinking of Jonny is making his cock drip over his fingers. He strokes himself harder, keeping his fingers in him. He doesn't need to move them, just needs something inside him to come on, while he thinks about Jonny's cock keeping him full and split open. He's close already, his cock getting impossibly harder - 

"Oh, shit, yes," Patrick moans, and shudders through his orgasm, squeezing around his fingers as his dick pulses over his fist. 

Fuck Jonny, really, because he should be here right now fucking Patrick until he's _satisfied_ , but his body's still tingling from it and he's feeling way too pleased to be annoyed for long.

He wipes ineffectually at the come on his stomach, and thinks for a moment that maybe he should feel slightly ashamed for jacking it while his kids are technically present; but honestly, he feels so suffused with pleasure and happiness that he can't find it in himself to be negative in any way. It's been a long time since he's felt so good with himself.

When he checks his phone, Jonny's indeed sent him a bunch of questions. He answers as best as he can one-handed: _they're due March 26, sucks to be you_ and _no, I won't know the genders till my 20-week scan_ , and _yes you can come with me to my next scan_ , and _YES JONNY I'M TAKING MY VITAMINS_. He rolls his eyes at his phone screen, and heaves himself off the sofa to take a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you guys haven't seen the lemonheads commercial jonny and patrick did (yes they really did one!), you can watch it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SH92VFNdxgA)! they also have a cute video behind the scenes of the shoot [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHMwVfE9rLw).


	3. part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks, as always, to my excellent betas heartstrings and trademarkgiggle for cleaning this up!! <333

Patrick gets through the next week okay - he holes up in his apartment, pretty much, and does all his grocery shopping online. Stan Bowman calls to congratulate him when Patrick texts to inform him that he's expecting twins, and the genuine warmth in his voice brings Patrick back for a moment to his rookie year, when he lived in Stan's basement and played with his kids and Stan treated him like another son.

But then before he hangs up, Stan reminds him about the meeting they're supposed to have when Jonny gets back from the World Cup, and tells him not to leave his home because "the media are going wild out here in Toronto. If someone sees you back in Chicago, there are going to be problems."

Patrick can read between the lines, and abruptly he's annoyed. "Does it really matter?" he asks. "Once people get wind of why I'm not playing, they'll think I'm a fuck up anyway. So what's the point in hiding me away?"

"You're not a fuck up," Stan says automatically. "But that's why we need to have a discussion about the press con. Hold them off at the pass."

Patrick's grateful, really, that Stan's always had his back, and feels a little ashamed of his outburst. "Okay," he says. "Thanks, Stan."

"Keep your head up, son," Stan says, and then passes the phone on to his wife, who coos over the sonogram and tells him to do and not do a whole bunch of things.

Dr. Terry calls him once, to check up on him, and tells Patrick that he's worked out a new meal plan for him with the team nutritionists for his pregnancy. Patrick's first reaction is annoyance; he's spent his entire adult life being told what to eat and restricting his diet, and even now when he's pregnant -

"Do I have to?" he says out loud, hoping he doesn't sound too pissed off. He reminds himself that this is Dr. Terry's job, to look after his health.

"Obviously I'm not expecting you to follow it as strictly as if you were playing. You can have sweet food, just don't go crazy with sugary things," Dr. Terry says, as if he'd already expected Patrick's resistance, and Patrick relaxes a smidge. He'll be okay as long as he can have his maple syrup. "We'll be tweaking your meal plan throughout your pregnancy so you'll be provided with enough nutrients to sustain a growing fetus while you continue to exercise."

Patrick laughs into the phone. "Better make it a little higher in calories," he says, "since there are two growing fetuses."

Dr. Terry makes a startled noise; Stan clearly hasn't told him anything. But he recovers admirably, asks Patrick a few questions, and then says he'll tailor something for him with the nutritionists and coaches.

Jonny calls him, of course, all the time; he texts a lot too, maybe too much, so when Patrick picks up the fifth call of the day while he's in the bathroom, he finally snaps.

"Stop fucking calling me," he says, raising his voice. "It's annoying! Don't you have a practice or something, man?"

Jonny goes quiet, and Patrick feels bad right away.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I just - I don't know what's wrong with me."

"What's going on? Are you feeling okay?" Jonny asks, and there's so much concern in his voice that it makes Patrick feel a little, well, weird. And he's not used to feeling weird around Jonny, which only serves to get him more irritated.

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that Jonny's being concerned about the babies and not trying to annoy him. "Yeah. I don't know. I get annoyed at every little thing nowadays."

"Ah," Jonny says. "So I should, uh, hang up? And not bother you?"

"No!" Patrick says. "Talk to me. Maybe I'm just bored at home, or whatever." It's true too; it was fun for the first three days, lazing around and marathoning Netflix and eating ice cream and maple syrup directly from their tubs with a spoon, but he's been starting to grow restless.

"You sure?" Jonny says, sounding doubtful.

"Yes," Patrick says. "When are you coming back?" He thinks he sounds a little plaintive, and just, _ugh_ , that was totally not what he was going for at all.

If Jonny notices, he doesn't call him out on it. "You'd better hope we win in two games, so I can be back as soon as possible."

"Never," Patrick lies. "I hope Hoss kicks your ass."

"He wishes he could," Jonny shoots back, and just like that they're back to ribbing each other about hockey and the tense little bit of awkwardness is gone.

Before they hang up, Patrick says, "Hey, Jonny - good luck. I mean that."

"Yeah," Jonny says. "Canada's all about winning, man."

"Fuck Canada," Patrick says, completely on autopilot, and Jonny just laughs.

"You know the kids are going to hold dual American-Canadian citizenships, right?"

"They are _not_."

"I looked it up. They are and they will."

Jonny sounds like he's practically beaming into the phone. And Patrick can't even yell at him for it, because he knows Jonny's turned into some sort of Google monster since he got pregnant.

"Whatever," he says sulkily. "Hanging up now."

"I'll bring back some maple syrup for you. The good organic stuff. I'm getting David to ship you some too," Jonny says, and wait - what, how did he know Patrick's been scarfing down maple syrup by the bottle?

"How'd you know?" Patrick asks dumbly, not even bothering to complete his question.

"You tell me every single day about what you've been eating. There's always maple syrup in there somewhere. Syrup on toast, on waffles, on ice cream, and remember that day you made a salad with turkey and added maple syrup into your dressing?"

"Don't knock my salad, it was good," Patrick says; and it was, too. Like, yeah, maybe maple syrup's a little too sweet for salads, but it still tasted awesome, okay?

"Sure," Jonny says, amused. "I'll call you again after the game, yeah?"

Patrick hesitates, and tells himself he won't blow up at Jonny again, not when all Jonny wants to do is fuss over him. "'Kay," he agrees easily.

Once Jonny hangs up, he grabs his laptop and pulls up a search for citizenships of children born to Canadian citizens in America.

And - damn, the fucker was right. Patrick's going to have two half-Canadian babies.

\---

There are three important things happening in the week after Canada wins the World Cup:

  * Jonny's coming back to Chicago on the first flight he can catch (after the obligatory team celebration);  

  * Their all-important meeting with McDonough, Stan, Q, and Brisson is set four days after Jonny arrives in Chicago;  

  * And the week after _that_ , it's Patrick's second scan and the first one Jonny's going to get to see. 



Patrick's looking forward to Jonny being back; he didn't think he'd miss Jonny quite as much as he did until he'd had to spend nearly two weeks under virtual house arrest and bored out of his skull - and of course, he's eager for the scan. The sonogram from his first appointment is tucked into a little frame and placed on his nightstand so he sees it every day.

Patrick has no idea how and when he turned into this sappy, needy person. But he's pregnant so fuck it, he's allowed.

The meeting, though: he's - not _afraid_ , but he's worried. He doesn't think they're in trouble, but he knows it's going to be hard on the team, and they'll have to answer to fans for it. And he's definitely dreading the press conference; he knows the media aren't going to go easy on him and Jonny, and their parents will be watching it as they tell the whole world how they've been banging and Jonny accidentally knocked Patrick up, and - it's just gross to think about, overall.

There's a fourth thing that blows the rest out of the water, and it hits right out of the blue.

The day Jonny flies back to Chicago, Patrick's kind of thinking about what to order for dinner while waiting for Jonny to arrive when he gets a call from Brisson, on his landline.

"Patrick, what did Jon do?" is the first thing Brisson says into the phone; and he never yells, doesn't even raise his voice, but the urgency there makes Patrick sit up straight and put down his tub of Greek yoghurt with maple syrup.

"What? He didn't do anything. He won the dumb World Cup and he's on a plane right now back to Chicago."

"Did you check Sportsnet online? The Toronto Star? Any other sports sites you subscribe to?"

"No, what's going on?" Patrick asks, pulling his laptop onto his lap and opening up a new tab.

"Go look now," Brisson says. "Go check Sportsnet's webpage."

"Okay," Patrick says, wondering what Brisson's so worked up about. "I'm going there right now - oh, _shit_."

"'Oh shit' sounds about right," Brisson says dryly.

It's literally the first thing that pops up when he's on the Sportsnet website - a huge headline spelling out "Blackhawks stars Jonathan Toews and Patrick Kane in pregnancy scandal" - and below that, a photo of the both of them together, Jonny whispering over Patrick's shoulder, Patrick's head turned back to listen to him. It's just a random stock image of them taken at some game, and Jonny was most probably yelling into his ear for him to _fucking go left and pass, Kaner_ , but they're both unsmiling, and coupled with that headline, it makes them both look particularly shifty.

"Shit," Patrick says, clicking into the article. He can already feel himself trembling slightly. "How the _fuck_ did they find out?"

"Apparently some Rexall clerk said you came in to buy a pregnancy test kit and then a day later Jonny came in and started asking about stuff for a pregnant person!" Brisson says. "She's giving interviews left and right. I don't understand - what possessed you to be this indiscreet? I thought you found out because you went to Dr. Gibson when you felt sick, not that you actually walked into a store and bought a test!"

And - shit, Patrick remembers the Rexall clerk only too well. She'd barely looked at him when she'd rung up his purchases, and he'd thought she didn't know who he was. He supposes it's a little too much to ask that someone in a hockey city like Toronto, working near the Air Canada Centre, wouldn't have recognised him.

He scans the article as quickly as he can. It's not good - the girl sold her story to some fucking tabloid in Toronto, and it got picked up by the big news outlets within an hour. She's got a copy of his credit card receipt with his signature on it - shit, she's even given that to the damn papers - and a copy of Jonny's receipt for the Lemonheads. And she's given a blow by blow account of everything Jonny had said to her - which apparently was to ask for ginger tea and rice crackers for a pregnant person, and anything else that could help with morning sickness. The girl had quoted him as saying he was getting stuff for his "pregnant friend - he's throwing up a lot and I'm kinda worried".

Patrick slumps back into his couch, shaking from head to toe and trying not to hyperventilate or faint. How the hell could he have been so stupid?

"Pat?" Brisson asks.

"I didn't think - I didn't know she'd know who I am," he says finally. It sounds incredibly stupid and feeble now that he's thinking about the way he waltzed into the store, without even a hat on, and paid for the pregnancy test with his card, with his _name_ on it.

"Shit, Patrick," Brisson says. "Your face is on fucking huge posters outside the arena, did you think she wouldn't know you?"

"I - I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly," Brisson says; and then he sighs. "Fuck, this is going to be a problem. This is going to change things, do you know what I mean? The narrative is out of our hands now. It's a fucking firestorm in the media. _Everyone's_ figured out that it's you who's pregnant, and they can put two and two together, and they're saying Jon's the father. We're going to need to give them something at the press conference, to keep them quiet."

"What do you mean?" Patrick says.

"I mean that John McDonough is _pissed_ , Patrick. If this hadn't come out the way it did, we could have controlled how we wanted it to go. Now we can't, and Stan and John want to move the press conference to tomorrow instead of waiting till next week. They don't want to wait and allow the rumours to get any bigger or worse."

"Tomorrow?" Patrick yells, horrified.

"I need you and Jon to be at the UC tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. We'll run you through what we need you to say, and then have the press con at 10 a.m. No, don't even try to refuse. You and Jon need to fix this mess."

"Oh my _god_ ," Patrick says. "And I'm supposed to spring this news on Jonny the moment he lands at O'Hare?"

"I'd be surprised if his phone isn't already blowing up with texts and calls," Brisson says. "In fact, I'm shocked yours isn't."

"I, uh - I haven't actually looked at my phone for a couple hours, until you called," Patrick says. He decides to leave out that he's basically been lying on the couch eating and watching Homeland the entire day.

"That explains why I called you on your cell six times and ended up having to call your landline," Brisson says dryly. "Look at it, and don't talk to anyone. We want you to no-comment the hell out of anyone who gets hold of you. Talk to you tomorrow. I'm arranging for a car to get Jon. I'm pretty sure there are reporters already camped out at O'Hare waiting for him."

"Jesus Christ," Patrick says. He rubs the bridge of his nose; he's suddenly feeling very nauseous, and he pulls himself upright to stumble his way to the bathroom. "Yeah, okay. Whatever."

He hangs up, and throws up into the toilet bowl straightaway. Fuck everything, really.

\---

Jonny arrives just as Patrick's finished fending off the last of the dogged texters with "no comment", like Brisson ordered. He's spoken to his mom and sisters, to give them a heads up on the whole debacle; he's responded to texts from an entire host of teammates and non-teammates (Seguin texted him with "?????" and a link to the Toronto Star, and Zach Parise, who'd just given birth to his daughter a few months ago, sent him a message saying that he'd be happy to help if Patrick needed pregnancy advice), saying nothing more than "tell you more when I can". It kind of horrifies Patrick that no one seems to be questioning him about whether it's true that he's pregnant, and worse, whether Jonny's _really_ the father.

He's not sure what it means that everyone's somehow taking it for granted that Jonny knocked him up, but that's a thought Patrick shoves as far back into the very depths of his mind as he can. He has far more pressing things to worry about right now.

Jonny turns up with his luggage, and a duffel bag which he drops on the sofa with a loud clank. "The maple syrup," he grunts, and shrugs off his jacket to reveal a soft maroon henley which is one of Patrick's favourites. That's just not playing fair, Patrick thinks.

"Did you see the news?" Patrick asks, before he can blurt out how hot he thinks Jonny looks.

"Yes," he says, and that's it - he doesn't say anything else, just stands and stares at Patrick.

The days are long gone when Patrick is intimidated by the way Jonny looks at him, intense and piercing and overwhelming, but when long seconds pass and Jonny still doesn't say anything, it starts getting kind of weird - and kind of terrifying. Jonny's just staring, eyes slightly narrowed, and Patrick crosses his arms over his chest defensively, suddenly very aware that he's wearing just loose boxers and a huge t-shirt with its neck stretched out and drooping over a shoulder, and the fluffy Garfield slippers Jackie bought him ages ago as a joke. "What?" he snaps.

"Have you been eating right? You look a little pale," Jonny says, and - well, that was absolutely not what Patrick expected him to say.

"I've been stuffing myself," he says in reply. "Why are you asking me that instead of freaking out about the news being leaked?"

Jonny frowns. "I don't care about gossip columns, I care about - " and then he stops, throat working, and continues to stare fixedly at Patrick.

"You giant weirdo," Patrick complains. "I know, you care about your Canadian spawn - I've been good, okay? I haven't eaten anything weird unless you count gallons of maple syrup, I've been taking all the vitamins Dr. Liu gave me. And Paul gave me a workout plan and I've been doing gentle reps."

Jonny keeps right on staring, only his face is turning a deep shade of red and his eyes look like they're about to bulge out of his head.

"I said _gentle_ reps," Patrick says, rolling his eyes. "Do you actually not trust our strength and conditioning coach to know what he's doing?"

"That's not what - yeah, okay. Fine," Jonny says, and as Patrick watches he takes a deep breath. His shoulders relax a fraction from the stiff set they've been in since he walked in; and eventually he must unclench enough, because he takes a few steps towards Patrick. "I got you maple syrup, and some other stuff."

"Jonny," Patrick says. "The _news_. Are we talking about that, or are you just gonna bury your head in the sand? We have a meeting and a press conference tomorrow, for fuck's sake."

Jonny frowns. "I'm not - look, there's nothing either of us can do right now until we have the meeting tomorrow, okay? And I'm - sorry I wasn't careful, and now the whole world knows about this because I was a dumbass and talked about my pregnant male friend to some random store clerk, and - "

"No, it wasn't you," Patrick interrupts, "I was stupid, I didn't think she'd recognise me. I should have gone to Dr. Gibson instead - "

"No, Patrick, it was me, I should have known better - "

"It was _me_ , Jonny, I acted irresponsibly - "

"Fuck that noise, you're not irresponsible, and fuck anyone who even thinks that - "

"Jonny, stop. _I'm_ freaking out."

Jonny stops trying to shout over him and goes quiet; Patrick manages to find, in a part of his mind, a little amusement in the way Jonny lets his mouth hang open. But then Jonny says, "Patrick," and looks like he's going to go on another tirade, and Patrick just - he can't deal with this shit at all, not now. He sinks down into the sofa and puts his face in his hands.

"Sorry," he mumbles through his fingers. "I'm just - I'm worried about the press conference, and the meeting, and everything. This is gonna be such a shitstorm."

He can feel it when Jonny settles next to him on the couch - the cushion dips, and the next thing he knows, Jonny's got an arm around him. He lets himself be pulled in towards Jonny, helplessly needing his strength and steadfastness, and allows Jonny to awkwardly cup the back of his head in his big hand.

"Don't be," Jonny says, and there's not even a waver in his voice, like he's convinced himself everything's going to be perfectly fine and dandy. "I'm right there with you, you know that, right? We got this. We've done everything together in this league since we were drafted. _We fucking got this_. And I'm not letting anyone make things hard for you, I promise."

"Ugh," Patrick says, lifting his head to look at Jonny. "I hate you when you're being all responsible like this."

"I'm not going to let you go through this alone," Jonny promises - and he looks content as hell, as if pulling the whole responsible captain schtick really does make him feel better about the situation.

Patrick swallows. "Yeah?" he asks; but already he's feeling a little less rattled than he's been all day. There's something about Jonny's surety and confidence that he trusts, that calms him; and he knows Jonny will never back down from his responsibilities. Jonny won't throw him to the wolves the way so many other people have. It’s the one thing that's never changed throughout the years he's known him.

"Yeah, of course. What do you take me for? Of course I'm not going to let you face all that shit on your own."

Patrick can't lie - it's not too bad to know your best friend's got your back and is going to be facing your employers and a bunch of predatory reporters alongside you. Especially when he's the one who got you into this predicament in the first place.

"I'm hungry," he says finally, in lieu of spewing his emotions all over Jonny.

Jonny looks concerned right away, and digs his phone out. "Okay, let's order something. What do you feel like? Italian?"

Patrick thinks about it; his stomach gives a tiny rumble, and he frowns down at it. "Japanese, I think," he says. "Yeah, get us Japanese. I want that California roll with the avocado and the shrimp, and the udon noodles with tempura. And the egg roll? Yeah, egg roll sounds good. It's all good, right? Nothing raw?"

"Yeah, that's good. What else? Dessert?" Jonny asks, typing away into his phone. He's so earnest and focused that Patrick can't help it; he starts laughing, pulling away from Jonny's arm.

Jonny looks over at him. "What?"

"Jonny, Jonny," Patrick says fondly, and reaches over for the duffel bag of goodies Jonny dragged in. "You're gonna make someone a great husband one day, man. If they don't mind that you're going to have two kids, I mean. Might mess up your future marriage plans a bit."

"I'm not going to marry anyone who minds that," Jonny says, appalled, and Patrick starts laughing again; but he stops when he pulls out the first bottle of glistening, dark golden syrup.

"Oh my god, this is some awesome maple syrup!" he gasps, holding it up to the light dramatically with both hands. He knows he looks ridiculous, acting like the bottle's some fancy diamond or something, but Jonny doesn't seem like he's going to laugh at him, so he doesn't care.

"Certified organic, hand-tapped, and it's really good stuff, the highest quality. It's from this tiny farm in Quebec that makes only a few thousand bottles a year. Maman told me about it."

"Awesome," Patrick says gleefully, and lets Jonny get on with ordering the food while he gets up to fetch a spoon.

\---

"We think the best thing for you two to do is get married."

It's an order, not a request. The silence that follows hangs thick and heavy in the air while Patrick tries to process that - that fucking _bombshell_.

"Nope," he finally manages, when he feels like he can get his mouth to work. "Nope, no, no fucking way. No." He glances over at Jonny, sitting ramrod straight next to him, and is relieved to see that Jonny looks about as floored as he does.

Jonny catches his eye, but what comes out of his mouth is: "Why is _no fucking way_ your first reaction?"

"That's what you're getting out of this?" Patrick asks, because what the hell.

"Obviously not," Jonny says, like the giant weirdo he is, and turns back to the table at large. "No, John. No. Why do we have to get married?"

"Because there's only so much bad press our _family-friendly_ organisation can take," John McDonough says. "And our captain knocking up our star winger isn't one of them."

Patrick kind of wants to stand up and yell at them to get out of the Stone Age, but - "Move with the times, guys," Jonny says coldly, and well, they've always been able to get a read on each other's minds.

"No, Jon," Adam Rogowin says. "You don't understand. This isn't a game, this isn't something that'll blow over in a couple of months. Everyone's already rabid thanks to the stunt that clerk pulled with the tabloids, and I know Pat Brisson suggested that you guys stay away from reading the papers, but let me tell you, my team _has_ been reading, and it's not good."

"How bad can it be?" Patrick mutters.

"You don't want to know what people are saying about you and us."

"Adam's right," Stan says. "I'm sorry, boys, but you have to do this. Gives us a chance at controlling the press somewhat."

"But - this isn't - Adam said it, this isn't a game," Patrick says hotly. "It's marriage, for fuck's sake! It's supposed to be a lifetime commitment, not something we have to rush into for the sake of fucking PR - "

"Babies are a lifetime commitment too, and you're going ahead and making 'em anyway," McDonough says.

Patrick feels like he's about to scream; his heart's pounding in his chest. He grips the edge of the table so hard he can see his knuckles turn white; there's a million things he wants to say, but he can't find the words. He just can't.

"Can't we just, I don't know, fake it? I mean, you want us to fake it anyway, so can't we just tell people we got married and then pretend we've split, without _actually_ getting married?" Jonny asks desperately.

"Yeah, that, exactly," Patrick says, nodding vigorously. "I'm fine with that, let's do that, that's good. That's better than the real thing." He's aware that he's already getting a little incoherent, the way he always does when he's on the verge of panic.

"And then we're all screwed when people run a simple google search and can't find proof of your marriage. No, it's got to be the real thing. We'll have to release a copy of your marriage license too," McDonough says.

"Oh my _god_ ," says Patrick, and he puts his face in his hands. It's too much. He can't do this. He can't sit here and listen to these people talk about him and Jonny getting married. And it's just not fair that they're springing this on Jonny and him an hour before they're due for a press conference, forcing them to make a decision about this, to agree to a fucking marriage.

"This is just - complete fucking bullshit," he says out loud.

"Patrick, please," Stan says; his voice is gentle, and it's this soft calmness he's projecting that makes Patrick look up at him. "Trust me on this. You know I'd never make you do something you didn't want to - but this is important, for both of you, for your children, and the organisation. I've never steered you wrong, and I'm not going to start now."

Magic words. Patrick _does_ trust Stan; Stan's always been a father figure in Patrick's life, steady and calm, and he'd always helped Patrick through all the shit he put the Blackhawks through, what with the debacle in Madison and the time his fucking cousin punched a cabbie. He's never given up on Patrick, and that's important to Patrick, because so many people have given up on him. And he knows without a doubt that there'll be more of them, with the news of his pregnancy.

"I - what do you want us to do?" he says finally, and rubs the back of his hand over his lips.

"Just get married," Stan says. "A quiet, quick wedding. And you can announce it at the press conference later, that you're intending to get married, and we'll ask for privacy for the newly married couple and your families. That'll settle everyone."

"And after that?" Jonny says. "What are we expected to do with our lives after we - after we're married?"

"That's up to you," John says. "We'd prefer you to get married and live together, at least for the duration of Patrick's pregnancy. After that, if you want to continue the same living arrangement for your children, or if you want to separate, or whatever - we leave that up to you. But for the next year or so - please, we hope you can do this, boys. For the organisation."

Patrick takes a deep breath. "Can I - can Jonny and I talk about this first? In private?" Next to him, Jonny's nodding in agreement.

Stan looks at his watch. "Okay, but the press conference is in an hour. You get fifteen minutes."

\---

Patrick's never considered marriage in his entire life. Yeah, he's thought about it in the abstract, like he's imagining someone else's life. He'd always thought he'd finally meet The One, date for a few years, and then get married maybe when he's like, thirty-five, and have babies after that.

The closest he ever came to thinking of marriage was Gavin, whom he'd dated for two years, just before his first Cup win. Gavin was a physiotherapist at Lurie's and made him laugh and gave Patrick that sense of solid stability that he needed. But he'd still been young then, and his vague thoughts of settling down with Gavin never really coalesced into anything more than a few wistful looks he'd cast at spacious brownstones or cute babies. He'd certainly never considered that he'd have kids before he had a husband, or that his first husband would be _Jonny_.

"So - marriage?" Patrick asks, the moment the both of them are out of the meeting room.

Jonny slumps against the wall across from him, shoving his hands in his pockets, and shrugs. The broad curve of his shoulders strains for a moment against the thin white tee he's wearing before he drops them, and Patrick kind of hates that Jonny's just so fucking attractive to him, even at a time like this. This pregnancy's throwing his entire body out of whack.

"I don't - I can't believe their solution to bad press is, _get married_? What the fuck," Jonny says, face dark with fury.

Well, crap. Jonny's definitely pissed off, and it's definitely Patrick's fault. He steps forward, closer to Jonny, and fights against the urge to reach up for him. "I'm really sorry.”

"For what?"

"For - I mean, this is my fault. I should have been more careful in Toronto. Fuck, I should have stopped you, way back. I'm the one who told you to go ahead when we didn't have condoms. I said I wouldn't get pregnant, and I did. So - I'm sorry. We'll go back in, tell Stan no way, and force them to think of another solution, okay?"

He's turning to go back into the room, determined to march right in there and demand something else that isn't about saying _forever vows_ ; but Jonny grabs hold of his elbow, and he stumbles over his feet.

"Fuck," he says; and the next thing he knows, he's steadied against Jonny's warm, solid chest.

"You okay?" Jonny asks, pushing away from Patrick so he can look down at him, like he thinks he's broken something just from a silly stumble.

"I - yeah," Patrick says, and makes to move away from him, except that Jonny's still holding on to him and won't let go, staring down at Patrick, brow furrowed like he's thinking hard.

"What are you doing?" Patrick asks, frowning in return. "Stop thinking so hard, dude, your brain isn't built for this."

"Shut up," Jonny says. "It's not your fault."

It takes a while for Patrick to remember what they'd been talking about. "Oh. Yeah, no, it was me, and I'm sorry I got you into this mess. It's not fair to you.”

"It's perfectly fair," Jonny says; and his entire being seems to settle into what Patrick likes to call his 'battle mode'. It's that look Jonny gets when it's Game 7 in the playoffs, when they're deep into double overtime and he needs to drag his team to a win - that same intense, powerful focus his body and mind sharpen into when he's in it to win it. "I said I wouldn't be a deadbeat dad, and I won't."

"Being a dad is a completely different thing from getting _married_ ," Patrick says, alarmed.

"I'm not going to be a deadbeat friend either," Jonny says, and oh god, now there's no changing his mind. "I've got shit to live up to, here."

Patrick tries again. "What shit to live up to? In case you forgot, there are _two_ faces of the franchise, and I've been a way bigger embarrassment than you've ever been - "

"No," Jonny says furiously. "Don't fucking _say_ that. And - we're gonna make this look good. We'll get married."

"For fuck's sake - "

"We're getting married, and we're gonna be the most fucking married couple in the universe. That's what they want, right? Let's give it to them. We'll be fucking aces at being married and _show_ them."

"Holy shit," Patrick says, and slaps the back of his hand against Jonny's forehead. "Do you have a fever?"

Jonny shakes his hand off. "I mean it. We'll be married as fuck and Stan's right, everyone willl leave us alone after. Until we get divorced, I mean - we've got to have an expiration date on this thing, right?"

Patrick thinks about it; and honestly, no matter which way he looks at it, it still seems like it's a bad idea. "It's a bad idea. You want to be a divorced man at the age of twenty-eight?" He's not sure when he became the responsible one between the two of them, but damn, it's down to him to rein Jonny in when he's going nuts like this.

"It's just for a year or so," Jonny says. "That's not a long time. We'll wait till six months after the babies are born, and then split and go on with life. I was intending to move into your place anyway, so there's not much of a difference - "

"Wait, what?" Patrick sputters.

"Did you think I was going to let you go through your pregnancy alone? These kids are mine too," Jonny says incredulously, and stares like a freak at Patrick's flat stomach again. Patrick doesn't even know why he keeps doing that when there's nothing there to see yet.

"But - "

"Come on," Jonny says. "It's not going to be a hardship, being married to me."

"Oh my god," Patrick groans. "Jonny, it _will_ be a hardship if you keep talking like a crazy person."

"Just a year," Jonny repeats. "Then we're done, and then we can talk access and everything. And honestly, I don't even care if I'm going to be divorced or whatever. It's fake anyway, and I'll still have two kids, and anyone who wants to marry me in the future has to suck it up and deal."

"You're crazy," Patrick says; but for the first time all morning he can feel the corners of his mouth begin to quirk upwards in a smile.

"Let's go back," Jonny says, and slings an arm over his shoulders. "Gotta tell them we're going to get married so we can shove it in their faces."

"I - _fine_ ," Patrick says. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and takes a deep, slow breath, feeling the weight of Jonny's arm on him, the reassuring presence of him, like an anchor. "Fine. Just for a year. Let's go get married."

\---

The loud, sharp intakes of breath that go around the room when McDonough reads the statement, hastily prepared by Brisson, is deafening. It's brief and to the point - he announces that Patrick's in the early stages of pregnancy ( _gasp_ ), Jonny's the father and they've been in a relationship for over a year that wasn't disclosed for obvious reasons ( _gasp_ ), and that they've decided to get married in a small, private ceremony next week ( _gasp, gasp!_ ).

Patrick kind of knows how they feel. Next week? That wasn't in the plan, damn it. He leans across to where Stan is seated. "Next week?" he hisses, putting his hand over his mic so it doesn't catch his words.

"The quicker the better," Stan hisses back.

Holy shit, Patrick thinks dazedly. He didn't sign up for this - _next week_? Jonny, seated next to him, isn't turned towards him, but Patrick can see, peripherally, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, like he's holding in a spill of words he wants to yell out.

"We'd appreciate it if they were given privacy at this time - it's a happy time for them, to be embarking upon this new stage in their lives, but also intensely stressful and different. We don't want any additional pressure on them, especially with Patrick's condition now, I think you'll understand," McDonough says. "They're currently in the process of applying for their marriage licence, and by this time next week they'll be married. Thank you, everyone. We'll take just a few questions."

A bunch of hands shoot into the air right away; but Patrick points at Tracey. He thinks she might be, well, more forgiving than the others.

"Congrats, Patrick and Jonathan," she says, smiling, and Patrick feels himself exhale slowly. He makes himself smile back at her, even though he's fidgeting with his hands under the cover of the long table he's seated at and his legs are shaking. "First off - how far along are you? When are you due?"

"Um, I'm at 13 weeks, maybe 14 weeks, or thereabouts," he says. "And they'll be here in March of next year."

Tracey arches an eyebrow. "They?"

"Yeah," Patrick says, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. "I'm, well, we're having twins."

The room breaks out again into a series of gasps and murmurs that he tries to shut out. It doesn't really work. He glances mutely over at Jonny; Jonny looks back at him, and as if he can read Patrick's mind, he reaches out under the table and grips his knee. Patrick's leg stills against the weight of Jonny's hand, and he slides his hand down his thigh until he can curl his pinky over Jonny's thumb. It's not holding hands, not exactly - and Patrick will be damned before he does that romcom bullshit with Jonny - but he just, he needs to feel Jonny right now, and remind himself that he's not alone in this.

"How long do you think you'll be out after that? You're definitely missing the playoffs, right?" some dude Patrick doesn't know yells from the back. Patrick hates his face right away.

"I don't know yet," he says. "The coaches can only gauge my fitness and conditioning after the babies are here. But I have a fitness plan designed for me by Paul already - Paul Goodman, our conditioning coach - so I'll be keeping up with my workouts in a safe way."

Chris Hine picks up the next question. "This is for Jonathan - how do you think this will affect your chances at the Cup, with Patrick out for the season?"

Patrick wants to crawl under the table and never come out. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of; but Jonny, when he answers, sounds smooth and steady.

"I'm not gonna lie, it'll be hard with Kaner out, of course," he says. "He's - an important part of our team, our greatest offensive weapon, and playing without him… it's, I guess it'd be like making a puzzle, and missing a big piece in the centre, don't you think? But I know our team - we're solid, and there are so many other good players, like Hoss and the Breadman and Duncs, who I know will step up and do their best to bridge the gap. Plus, we have another very good reason now for wanting to win."

"Which is?" Hine asks.

"So we can put the babies in the Cup, of course," Jonny replies with a grin.

Holy _shit_. That is - literally nothing Patrick's been thinking about over the past few weeks has prepared him for this, like a jolt of lightning slamming into him. His babies. _In the Cup_. He hadn't wanted to - hadn't dared to think about getting it, but suddenly it's all he can visualise. Two tiny infants, swaddled in Blackhawks colours, squished into the silver bowl, and him and Jonny standing behind it, both of them carefully propping up a baby each.

He thinks that may possibly be worth him going through this dumb fake marriage thing with Jonny.

Fuck, he can feel himself tearing up. He turns away from the gathered reporters so he can blink the tears away, only to meet Jonny's eyes.

"What's wrong?" Jonny asks, leaning away from the microphone, concern in his voice. Someone's asking Stan a question now, something about Patrick's carrier status and whatever - which is stupid, Patrick's never hidden that he's a carrier, and Trevor's never had to field much shit even though he's the other carrier on the team. And he's not even the first NHL player to get pregnant and have children. (Except for the tiny, utterly insignificant fact that, well, he's only the fourth active player to get pregnant before retirement.)

"Nothing," he says, blinking rapidly. "Except that you gave me all the stupid feels, and now if you don't win the Cup I'll kill you."

"That's even better motivation," Jonny says, and then, to Patrick's stunned surprise, he actually _winks_ at him. What an absolute dork. It works, though, because at least Patrick no longer feels like bursting into tears. He takes a deep breath and turns back to everyone just as Stan says, "Next?"

"How are you feeling now, Patrick?" Tracey asks; and Patrick's absurdly touched that out of the assorted beats, cameramen, and crew gathered here, she's the only one who cared to ask about _him_.

"Terrified," he says honestly, and a rumble of laughter goes around the room. "But I mean, I'm okay. Some nausea here and there, so I hope that passes soon. Other than that, I feel good. Really, really scared, but good."

"It gets better. Take care, Patrick," Tracey says, and Patrick nods his thanks at her.

"Over here!" another guy says. Patrick's not sure which network or paper he's from, but he remembers seeing him in the media scrums during the World Cup. "Patrick, were you so disappointed at the lack of good centers on Team USA that you decided to make your own?"

Patrick can't help it; he bursts out laughing, along with everyone else in the room. Next to him, Jonny's shoulders are shaking with laughter. "That's a good one," Jonny chokes into his mic.

Patrick's about to tell him to shut it when - ugh, there's the familiar roiling feel of his stomach churning, and breakfast backing up into his throat. "Ugh," he says out loud, and stands up fast enough that his chair slides several feet back. "Sorry - I've got to - " he mimes throwing up, and Jonny gets up right away and follows him out of the room.

He can hear Bowman saying, "Sorry folks," the end of his sentence trailing off, and some shouting from the reporters, but the United Center security staff are awesome and clear a path for him to the nearest bathroom, getting both him and Jonny through people in the corridors easily.

Jonny stands outside his stall as he pukes, and that's the last of his breakfast down the drain again. But whatever, it just means he has an excuse to get more food later; plus for once his nausea actually came at an opportune moment. He puts his hand on his stomach, rubbing over it.

"Thanks, kids," he says, his voice loud and echoey in the bathroom.

"Did you just - thank our kids for making you throw up?" Jonny says.

"No, I was thanking them for getting us out of there," Patrick says as he flushes. He exits the stall and shoulders past Jonny to the sink, rinsing his mouth out thoroughly and splashing some water on his reddened cheeks.

Jonny watches him silently like a creeper - and honestly Patrick doesn't even know why he wanted to follow him here and stand outside and listen to him throw up, that couldn't have been the most pleasant thing to hear - but when he's dried his hands Jonny says, "Stan texted me and told me he'll finish up here, and that I should get you home. You want to grab some food on the way?"

" _Yes,_ " Patrick says at once. "I want - I feel like - mac and cheese, maybe? At RPM Steak? They've got an awesome mac and cheese dish. And I want their Nutella bread pudding after."

"Sure," Jonny says easily. He goes over to the door, opens it. "After you, milady."

"Fuck off," Patrick says, and rolls his eyes; but he goes anyway.


	4. part four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to apologise in advance for any mistakes I make in this chapter especially re: the whole hoopla with the marriage license and the stuff at city hall - I researched as best as I could (I have no idea how these things work in IL since i'm not american) but I think I didn't get it all right, so you know, if you spot anything I wrote wrong, just... imagine i'm handwaving it, lmao.
> 
> also this chapter is CHEESY! so, so c h e e s y. I hope y'all enjoy lots of cheese.
> 
> a million thanks to my betas, heartstrings and trademarkgiggle, for kicking this fic's ass! <333

That week after the press conference is possibly the busiest, most stressful, and weirdest ever of Patrick's life. Even including playoffs, his draft, and the Olympics.

The press conference literally goes viral - like, Blackhawks PR is fielding calls from Stephen Colbert's people, for god's sake. Patrick's not going to go on TV and - and display himself and his babies for some TV audience, obviously, even if Colbert and The Late Show give him some pause for thought - but he's decided early on that he wouldn't have any more pressers, he wouldn't do any interviews, nothing apart from that one he and Jonny got forced into (and he's grateful that Jonny agrees with him). But it _is_ overwhelming, seeing messages for him from the New York Times and USA Today asking for an interview, and requests for appearances on the Jimmy Kimmel show and Good Morning America for both him and Jonny. 

Christ, Patrick never thought people cared about hockey this much. Or maybe they still don't, and it's just the novelty of having two of the NHL's biggest and most recognisable stars, who just won their third Stanley Cup a year ago, getting married and having a baby while still being active players. Either way - Patrick's not interested in being scrutinised by media.

And whenever he goes out, there are people gawking at him _everywhere_ he goes - even if he's just popping to the Whole Foods nearby. He's found that people in Chicago are generally polite, they keep their distance and don't usually pester him for photographs and autographs - but now people are actually _following_ him around, trying to take quick photos on their cell phones, not even really bothering to hide that they're staring at his stomach. He soon takes to layering baggy hoodies over baggy sweatshirts whenever he has to leave the house, even though it's still warm out for October - the more thick fabric on him, the better.

He also moves the date for his second scan forward, from the 16-week mark to 14 weeks, because the season's starting soon and once it does Jonny's going to have barely any time, and he wants Jonny to be there for his baby checkups. 

But the morning he's supposed to go for the scan, Jonny turns up at his apartment to pick him up, and he's also holding a copy of the Sun-Times. "What the hell," is the first thing he says when Patrick opens the door.

"What the hell what?" Patrick snaps. He's feeling kind of frazzled; they're running a little behind because he woke up later than he'd thought he would - god, this constant tiredness is getting out of hand - and then he'd had to puke, and his chest is aching and his nipples are sore and tender, so all in all - not a good morning, and the only thing getting Patrick through is the thought of seeing his kids on the ultrasound again.

Jonny shakes the paper open and points at the enormous, quarter-page picture of Patrick inside - funnily enough, it's in the entertainment section of the paper. Patrick has a moment to think with a little wry amusement about how he used to only ever appear in the sports section, even when they were printing shit about his 'partying' and all that jazz - before Jonny says, "They're talking about your _bump_."

"What the fuck, I don't even have a bump," Patrick says, snatching the paper from Jonny and staring at his picture. It's from several days ago, when he was on his way to his gym. He's got a jacket on, but it's unbuttoned and the wind's blowing it open, flattening his t-shirt to his belly. But Patrick's like, a hundred percent certain those are stomach muscles - yes, he still has his abs, thank you very much - and not an actual bulge or a bump. He's only at 14 weeks, for fuck's sake.

"I don't have a bump," he repeats firmly, folding the paper up and tossing it on the coffee table. "Do you want some coffee before we go?"

But Jonny's just - standing, and staring fixedly at his stomach, hidden today under a loose Blackhawks sweatshirt, and Patrick sighs. "For god's sake," he says, lifting the shirt to show Jonny. "I do look at myself in the mirror every day, so don't you think I'd be able to tell if I'm showing?"

Jonny blinks, a little slow, like he's coming out of some kind of daze. "I - yeah, I mean. Yeah, you would know," he says, sounding a little hoarse. Patrick looks down at himself, where he's pulled his shirt up to his neck; yeah, still the same flat stomach, rock-hard abs, and tender, swollen, darkened nipples that have been making it a bitch for him to sleep on his front. He has no idea why Jonny looks the way he does, staring like some stalker, cheeks turning pink. What, like he hasn't seen Patrick naked before - it's precisely how they're in this situation in the first place.

"Ugh, whatever," Patrick says, dropping the shirt. "You're being a weirdo."

"I'm - sorry," Jonny says, swallowing visibly, and giving his head a little shake. This - absolutely gargantuan _weirdo_ , Patrick thinks. "I mean - yeah, you're definitely not showing yet."

"Yep," Patrick says. "That picture is wrong, and so is all the crazy gossip I bet they wrote under it. So do you want coffee, or not? I made a pot, and - stop _looking_ like that, I didn't drink a drop, I made it only in case you wanted some - and you'd better drink some, or I'm pouring it all down the sink."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Jonny says, and starts heading towards the kitchen. Patrick hears him moving around in it soon enough; he has a particularly large, heavy ceramic mug at Patrick's place he usually uses for his coffee, and Patrick's already got it out and set it next to the coffee maker, so basically, no one can say he's not a good host or whatever, making sure his kids' father is caffeinated before they have to embark on all the shit they have to do today.

\---

"Ready?" Dr. Liu asks. She's adjusting knobs on the ultrasound machine, Patrick on his back with his shirt hiked up and stomach bare except for a squishy layer of gel. Jonny's seated at his head; he's leaning so far forward he's practically on the edge of his chair, and he's tapping his foot on the floor, quick and jerky. As if he's the one having the scan, Patrick thinks, and can't help grinning at Jonny's obvious excitement.

"Totally ready," Patrick says, still smiling, and Jonny turns back to look at him at that moment; they lock eyes for a second, and then Jonny smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners.

God, Jonny's just - he's so _happy_. It makes something tight in Patrick's chest loosen a little, knowing that no matter what, Jonny's going to really, really love the babies, at least.

"Ready," Jonny echoes, and Dr. Liu begins moving the wand over his belly. Patrick keeps his eyes on the screen; and soon enough, there they are, the murky black-and-white blobs on screen. Patrick can feel his heart rate speed up; he can't help it, he keeps looking over at Jonny, wanting to see every second of this first wondrous moment on his face.

Jonny's watching the screen with wide, dark eyes, mouth a little open. He leans even closer, and Dr. Liu hums. "Everything looks good, Patrick," she says, and Patrick lets out a little puff of breath he didn’t even realise he'd been holding. "They're developing fine, at the usual rate I would expect - Jon, maybe you'd like to take a closer look?"

" _Yes,_ " Jonny says at once, and leaps out of his chair. He moves forward, close enough to the screen that he blocks Patrick's view of it, and Patrick reaches out to grab his wrist and tug a little.

Jonny looks back at him, and manages an absent-minded "Oh, sorry, babe", before he shifts so Patrick can see again. Patrick blinks, stupefied. _Babe_? That's a new one.

Dr. Liu's talking now, so Patrick shelves that away in his mind for later. "So one's over here, and the other one's close by, right behind," she says, tracing the babies on the screen with her finger like she did for Patrick the last time. "Like I told Patrick the last time, they share a placenta, so they're most definitely identical. They don't share an amniotic sac, which is the case for about seventy percent of identical twins, but that's a good thing, because sharing both a placenta and a sac can put the fetuses at significant risk - but your twins look good."

Jonny exhales visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His eyes never leave the screen as Dr. Liu continues talking, pointing at this and that along the way. "They're each about - three inches long, I'd say, which is perfect at this stage of their development; about the size and weight of a peach each. And they seem to be growing at the same rate, and are the same size, which is great, because what we're really looking out for here with them sharing a placenta is to make sure that one twin isn't getting more nutrients or blood supply than the other."

"But - they're okay, right?" Patrick asks, blinking at the screen. Shit, he hadn't known about this. What if - 

"Oh yeah, they're looking fine," Dr. Liu says, and Patrick manages to remind himself to breathe. "You know, twins tend to grow slower and be a little smaller than most singles, especially with male pregnancies - but yours are on the big side for twins, and like I said, growing at the same rate, which is very good. Obviously we want them to be at a good birth weight - but we'll monitor you closely towards the end, make sure they're not so large that they'll impact your organs, or anything like that."

"Yeah, definitely not, don't want them playing hockey with my lungs and kidneys," Patrick says, only half-joking; he really does not want to have to be put on bed rest or anything dumb like that, he's read up on twin births, okay. 

Dr. Liu smiles. "We just need to keep them in you as long as we can, but it's a fine balancing act, making sure they're big enough, just not too big." She looks back at the screen, and adds, "Oh, look there, can you see - "

And indeed he can; the baby's wiggling a little, kind of, and to Patrick's absolute amazement, he - or she - waves a tiny hand slowly in front of their face. Almost like they're saying hi. 

"Oh my god," Patrick says, feeling himself start to tremble. "Oh my _god_." 

"Yes, they start moving around a lot now," Dr. Liu says. "And here - " she tilts the wand a little, and the other baby comes into clearer view. They're suckling on their tiny thumb.

"Oh my god," Patrick says again. There's a thick lump in his throat that he can't swallow past, and fireworks sparking to life in his stomach. It's just - absolutely amazing. It's the most astonishing, stupendous, extraordinary thing he's ever seen in his life. He turns to Jonny, and Jonny's staring, looking every bit like Patrick feels - mouth wide open with awe, eyes sparkling and face flushed, breathing hard enough for Patrick to hear.

"Jonny," he says, reaching out blindly; Jonny reaches back and finds his hand. He squeezes hard enough for Patrick's knuckles to grind, but Patrick doesn't mind, not one bit. He clings back just as hard, and for a moment there's just the both of them and nothing else, their entire world narrowed in on the two distinct little wondrous things on the ultrasound screen. 

But then Jonny says, in a thick, choked-up voice, "That one looks just like you."

"What?"

"The one sucking on his - her thumb. Got your habits already."

"Oh for f- god's sake," Patrick says; and just like that the moment's broken, but he can't help himself, he starts to laugh anyway.

Dr. Liu shoots a smile at them both. "So, they look good," she says briskly. "We'll get you cleaned off, and then we can talk about your blood tests and your next appointment and all those other boring things."

"Yeah," Patrick says, and waits for Dr. Liu to turn the scanner off, but then Jonny interrupts with a strangled, "Wait."

"Yes?" Dr. Liu asks, looking over at him. "Any questions?"

"I just - I'm sorry, I just - wanted to look at them a little more, I guess," Jonny mumbles. His eyes are round, wide, full of wonder; he's still staring at the babies on the screen.

"Oh, don't worry about that," she says kindly. "I'll print out copies of today's sonogram, for both you and Patrick, if you'd like."

"Yes," Jonny says eagerly. "Yes, I would - can I get, uh, maybe five copies?"

"Jonny," Patrick hisses.

"No, it's - one for my mom, one for my dad, one to put in my wallet and one to put on my bedside table - actually, why don't I just get ten copies, I'll send them to your parents and sisters too."

"Oh my god," Patrick says, flushing - Jonny's literally the most embarrassing person in the world, damn it - but Dr. Liu just nods. 

"Of course," she says, like it's perfectly normal, and then as if she knows Patrick's internally flipping out, she adds, "It's fine - lots of new parents get excited, we know."

"Yeah," Patrick says slowly, thinking of the way Jonny had looked, like - like this was the best thing to ever happen to him; the way Jonny had squeezed his hand while looking like that. "I guess so."

\---

Jonny follows him home after the scan, like an eager puppy, except a _really_ , like, sort of protective and serious puppy as well. He makes sure Patrick's strapped into his seat belt before he even goes around to the driver's side of the car, and checks his seat belt once more before he puts the car into drive; and all the way back to Patrick's condo he's looking over at Patrick every so often, the corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. And Jonny usually drives like a complete maniac, Patrick knows - Mercedes, elevated track support beam, hello - but he's going at a sedate 50 today, and doesn't even speed up at yellow lights, like he normally does.

It makes Patrick feel all sorts of strange and prickly. He knows why Jonny's doing this, and he appreciates it, but by god, if Jonny's going to act like this for the rest of his pregnancy, he might just explode, and one morning Sharpy or someone's going to find Jonny's dead body next to the tiny blown-up bits and pieces of Patrick.

"No, stop - I can get out just fine," Patrick snaps when they reach his condo, Jonny parking the car and hurrying to open the door for him. He swings the car door open, barely missing Jonny's knees, and climbs out. "See? Stop being such a freak, Jonny."

"I - I'm not being a freak," Jonny says. Patrick gives him his best glare, and it's mildly satisfying to watch Jonny visibly wilt under the strength of his glare, because Jonny usually just comes back with an even better one of his own.

"Okay, I mean, maybe I am, but it's not - I can't help it, okay? You can't tell me to control it, because I can't," he says stubbornly, trailing behind Patrick to the elevator.

"Oh my god," Patrick says, jabbing viciously at the button for his floor. His earlier good mood's completely evaporated and now he's just annoyed; and it happened in literally minutes and he doesn't know _why_ , which makes him even more annoyed. When they get to his apartment, he stomps off to the bedroom, ignoring Jonny's concerned looks.

"I'm going to nap," he says as he goes. "I'm tired, so don't bother me."

Jonny holds up his hands. "Not gonna bother, I promise," he says. "Take as long as you need."

"Ugh," Patrick mutters to himself, and goes to take a piss; but then by the time he comes out of the bathroom and crawls into bed, he finds that he really is kind of sleepy - damn early morning appointments - and promptly falls asleep in minutes.

\---

Patrick wakes up to the muted sounds of the TV outside and something that smells really, really good. A quick glance at his phone tells him he’s been asleep for nearly four hours; and an accompanying growl from his stomach reminds him that he’s actually hungry, and those nice food smells aren’t helping.

He stumbles out of his bedroom, wandering blindly into the kitchen; and then he stops short, because Jonny’s in there, setting the island with plates and cutlery. He’s dug out an old pair of grey sweatpants that he must have left at Patrick’s condo some time ago, and that’s about all he looks to be wearing, just the grey sweats drooping low on his hips, and he’s, well. Pretty bulked up for the upcoming season, is all Patrick can think. Tanned, and thick, and - it’s a really good look on him. He looks like he _belongs_ here, in Patrick’s apartment, and that’s - weird, that’s something Patrick has _never_ thought, in all the years he’s known Jonny, all the days and nights Jonny’s spent here, not even when they started their whole friends-with-benefits thing.

Patrick isn’t quite sure why he’s thinking that way now. Pregnancy hormones are a bitch.

Jonny turns at that moment and sees him standing in the kitchen doorway; his face splits open in a grin. “Hey, you’re up,” he says cheerfully. “Did you sleep okay? Are you hungry? I got food.” He turns back to the oven, which is actually on - Patrick can probably count on his fingers the number of times that oven has been used - and opens it to show a dish of lasagna sitting in it, steam billowing out. He grabs a pair of oven mitts and lifts it out to set it on the island.

“Yeah, what _is_ that?” Patrick says. “Did you actually cook? You can’t cook.” And he knows Jonny most definitely can’t cook for shit, so why and how there's the most amazing-smelling lasagna bubbling away in a Le Creuset casserole dish his mom got for him years ago (also barely-used) is beyond him.

“Obviously I can’t cook,” Jonny says. “But what I lack in cooking skills, I make up for in brains, buddy. Drove out while you were sleeping and got us a nice frozen one in Whole Foods. Plus side salads.”

“Okay, well, I’m starving right now, so I’m gonna give you credit for that, just this once,” Patrick says, sliding onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. “Lasagna the fuck out of me now, dude.”

Jonny sits across from him as they eat; between the both of them they polish the entire thing off, and for possibly the first time in their lives Jonny lets him have the last square of lasagna left without fighting him for it. So Patrick’s feeling pleasantly full, and satisfied, and that sense of satisfaction only increases when Jonny tells him to stay put and says he’ll scrape the dishes clean and get them into the dishwasher.

Now this is the kind of stuff Patrick can get behind - in the past asking Jonny to pick up after himself or to clean anything up was like pulling teeth.

“Listen,” he says. Jonny’s stacking the dirty plates into the dishwasher, and Patrick takes a moment to admire the muscles rippling subtly across Jonny’s bare shoulders and back, before he adds, “I’m sorry I went off at you earlier. I was just, I don’t know, grumpy.”

“If you’re going to apologise every time you snap at me, we’re going to have a long five months ahead,” Jonny says, sounding amused. “It’s fine, I get it, you have mood swings.”

It’s probably a testament to the aforementioned mood swings that Patrick’s feeling good enough to let that slide instead of snapping at Jonny for it. “Yes, I do, so fear me,” he drawls. 

“I suppose I’m safe from your wrath as long as I keep you well-fed.”

“Yeah, speaking of that,” Patrick says. “I’ve got some yoghurt in the fridge, get that for me, and a bottle of that maple syrup you brought back.”

“Okay, but don’t push your luck,” Jonny warns; but he’s still smiling, and he does go to the fridge and furnish Patrick with his demands, so all in all, Patrick’s totally counting it as a win.

—-

A couple of days later, both Patrick and Jonny get a text from Rogowin reminding them to let management know when they've applied for their marriage license, and well - that's probably not something they can put off any longer. It's not that Patrick's forgotten about it; he's had so much on his mind with the babies, and the stupid press conference, and Jonny's barely been back a few days - but there's no getting away from the fact that they have to do this.

So Jonny starts up his MacBook after dinner, Patrick sitting next to him cross-legged on the sofa and licking maple syrup-drizzled yoghurt off his spoon. "You ready?" Jonny asks, pulling up Google. Patrick can see a bunch of tabs open on Jonny's Google Chrome - and they seem to be, well, all about pregnancy things. Developmental milestones, and food to eat for the development of a growing fetus, and all that jazz - and Patrick's really, absurdly touched by the amount of effort Jonny's putting into this. 

He thinks maybe he really should stop being so hard on Jonny. If Jonny wants to _take care_ of him and _be responsible_ , then he should probably let it happen.

"Patrick?" Jonny says, bringing him back from his thoughts.

"Yeah. No," Patrick says, tearing his eyes away from Jonny's Chrome tabs and blinking up at him. "I mean - when will I ever be ready, right? For something like this?"

"Yeah," Jonny says. There's a frown appearing between his brows. "Like I said, we don't have to do this - "

"Except we do," Patrick cuts in, "so let's just get this done, okay? Then we can move on with - everything else. There's a ton of stuff we need to prepare for, and do, and discuss, and frankly our fake marriage is pretty low on that list."

Jonny nods. "Yeah. Okay. We're doing it."

He navigates to the Cook County site and clicks through to the right page. It's - pretty blank and nondescript, really, for something that should be such a huge and monumental step in Patrick's life, just big bold letters saying 'Online Marriage License Application' at the top of the page and a green button saying 'Start Application', and Jonny clicks on it without preamble.

"Here goes nothing," Patrick murmurs.

Jonny looks up at him. "Here goes nothing," he echoes, and puts his hand on Patrick's thigh, squeezing reassuringly.

It takes nearly half an hour to complete the application; by the time Jonny fishes his credit card out at the end to make the payment and then clicks on 'Complete Application', there's a weird lump in Patrick's throat. 

It's not as if he'd never thought he'd get married, of course. It's just that he never thought his first marriage would be like this - with his teammate, faked for PR purposes, primed for divorce in a year's time, submitting a marriage license application on his sofa while the Cubs game is on in the background on the TV, both of them in their old greying sweats, looking like slobs who can't care less about this - this enormous step into a life that they both didn't ask for and deserved better than.

Jonny looks over at him. "Done," he says. "We can go collect our license the day after, I guess. And - get married. At the courthouse."

"Okay," Patrick says; his lips feel kind of numb, like he can't really shape words anymore.

"And we don't need witnesses, it looks like. That's good, I guess? We can get it done quickly and quietly."

"Actually," Patrick says, "I was thinking of asking someone to come along. Just like, for support or something, you know? I just want to see a familiar face with us when we're doing this."

"Who?"

"Sharpy," Patrick says at once. He hasn't even spoken to Sharpy, apart from one phone call, in the chaos of the first few days after the news broke; and he and Jonny are supposed to keep the whole fake marriage thing a secret, as ordered by McDonough, apart from senior Blackhawks management and their families - so Sharpy doesn't know shit, but just before they'd hung up on their last phone call Sharpy had said, "Peeks, you know I'll always be here for you no matter what, right?" and Patrick had promptly started crying.

"I don't really want to see Stan right now, and definitely not McD, and I am not asking my parents to come to Chicago for this," he says. "And Sharpy's - you know, he's always been around for me. For both of us. I want him to be there. He's still in Chicago, I don't think he's going back to Dallas yet."

"Anything you want," Jonny promises, and Patrick abruptly feels like tearing up again. Fuck hormones for real. "Call him now and ask him."

"No, I - I'll do it tomorrow," Patrick says. "I'm just - can we not think or talk about this stuff the rest of the night? I just want to sit here, and watch some funny movies or TV or whatever, and eat my maple syrup - so you know. Just hang out with me here."

Jonny looks at him; and then to Patrick's surprise, he reaches out to run his fingers through his hair, tucks a stray curl behind his ear. It's oddly warm and reassuring, and Patrick can't help but lean a little into his hand. "I'm sorry," Jonny says. "It's been a long day. All this - it's super stressful for you. I'm sorry."

"Last time I checked, there were two of us making these kids, not just me," Patrick says, a little snippy even though he doesn't mean to be - but Jonny takes his hand away, and the moment's broken.

"You want to watch Parks and Rec? It's funny," Jonny suggests, pushing his laptop aside to grab the remote, and Patrick nods. He can roll with that.

\---

They stay up till past one in the morning watching old seasons of Parks and Recreation,ribbing each other occasionally while Patrick pigs out on maple syrup on ice cream and yogurt; and it’s nice, really, Patrick’s missed doing this, just having the time and opportunity to hang out with Jonny over a summer.

But when he starts yawning, Jonny gets up from the sofa, stretching and scratching casually at his side (just above the groove of a deep V-cut, Patrick’s mind helpfully supplies), and Patrick thinks he’s going to get dressed and go home. But instead Jonny says, “Bed?"

And of course, Patrick’s traitorous dick immediately twitches at that, like some kind of Pavlovian reaction to the way Jonny says ‘bed’.

“Uh,” he says dumbly, blinking up at Jonny. Is Jonny actually suggesting they have sex, because - okay, he’s not entirely opposed to the idea, but the last time they actually fucked was _months_ ago back in June, and he’s not sure why Jonny would be proposing sex now after he pretty much freaked out over a handjob when they were in Toronto, and after all that heavy emotional shit over applying for their marriage license.

“You’re tired, and it's late,” Jonny says. “I’ll use the guest room - is my spare toothbrush still in your bathroom though?”

“Wait, what,” Patrick says, shaking his head a little to clear it. God, he needs to stop thinking about sex - and sex with Jonny. “Why’d you want to sleep in the guest room?”

He can’t really remember when they started, like, _sleeping_ together in the same bed - sometime after they’d won their first Stanley Cup in 2010, he thinks. But the first few years of their buddyfucking before that had been characterised by speed: lots of quick fumbling handjobs or blowjobs on sofas, lots of fast, rough fucking on said sofas (and one memorable time with Patrick on all fours on his 88 rug - so much for Jonny laughing his head off at it the first time he’d seen it). And up till that point, Jonny would either pluck himself up off the floor or wherever after they were done, and head home, or he’d take the guest room. 

Sometime in the summer of 2010, that somehow segued into Jonny sharing his bed, which in turn gave way to much more slow, lazy, late night and early morning sex; but the point is, Jonny’s pretty much always slept in Patrick's room ever since then, even if they didn’t have sex. There’s no reason why Jonny should want to go back to the guest room now.

Jonny starts looking uncomfortable; he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, shrugs, and scratches the back of his head self-consciously. “I mean, I don’t - well. I didn’t know if you’d still want me to.”

“Oh, for - I’m pregnant, not dead and reincarnated,” Patrick says. “I didn’t change into a whole new different Patrick Kane who no longer knows who you are just because I happen to be baking a couple of new humans. So get your fine ass into the bedroom, Toews, before I kick it. I’m going to need to pee very soon, and you’d better be done with whatever you do in the bathroom by then.”

Jonny shakes his head and goes; but not before throwing a “I know I’ve got a fine ass” over his shoulder.

Patrick stares at Jonny’s retreating back. He has to agree.

—-

"So you want me to be your best man," Sharpy says. There's some screaming in the background from the girls - Patrick can't tell where they are, but he feels a little bad interrupting Sharpy's family time with his daughters. Then it starts making him feel weird to think that in a couple of years, Sharpy's life will basically be his, only without the beautiful spouse. 

"Not best man," he says. "We're not having any kind of - ceremony or reception or whatever. I just want you to be there with us. Then we'll, I don't know, buy you dinner. I mean, if you want a reception that badly. You can have dinner with us."

"No, I'm not _that_ hard up for your reception, thanks," Sharpy says dryly. "But - of course I'll be there. Just tell me when and where."

Patrick exhales, relief washing over him. "Thanks, Sharpy," he says. "And, uh, it's probably going to happen real soon. Like, um, tomorrow. We just submitted our license application yesterday and it's been issued, so we're just going to do it."

"Wait, what."

"The season's starting soon and we didn't want to, you know, drag this out or have it clash with the season opener or whatever, so - "

"Hold up. _Drag this out?_? That doesn't sound like someone who's looking forward to getting married."

"I am! I mean, we just want to do it quickly and quietly, and not have press all over us, or a ton of people, you know?" Patrick says. He knows Sharpy's not convinced, from the long pause that follows after.

"Peeks, if there's anything you want to tell me, you know you can, right?" Sharpy finally says.

Patrick swallows. Damn, he can feel the tears start to prickle in the back of his eyelids again. "I know," he says. "But I - not now, okay? I will, when I'm ready. Not now."

There's another pause, and then Sharpy says, "Is Jonny forcing you to marry him? Because you're pregnant? If he is, just tell me, and I swear to god I'll hunt him down and punch his face in, and _then_ I'll talk sense into him - "

"No!" Patrick says, stunned; the idea of it Jonny forcing him into marriage just because they're having children is so ludicrously old-fashioned, and far off the mark, and so not-Jonny that he actually starts laughing. "God, no. I promise you, it's not like that. And Jonny's definitely not making me do anything I don't want to, don't worry."

"Okay, I'm taking your word for it," says Sharpy, after a pause. "But - if you need any sort of help in any way at all, let me and Abby know. We'll do whatever we can for you."

"I know," Patrick says, touched. "Thanks, Sharpy."

\---

When Patrick wakes the next morning, Jonny's face is shoved against his back, and Patrick can feel the soft rumbles from Jonny's light snoring. Probably drooling on him, he thinks sleepily as he climbs out of bed, and it's a testament to how much time they've spent together and how many bodily fluids they've swapped that he's not the least bit grossed by it.

He hovers for a little while over the toilet, expecting some nausea to come over him, but it doesn't happen; Dr. Liu had told him the morning sickness would settle now he's entered his second trimester, and it's true he hasn't really felt pukey for the past week, so he's going to take the wins as they come.

He brushes his teeth quickly and then twists round to check his shirt out; there's indeed a small wet patch on the back from Jonny's drool, gross. He pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it into the laundry basket, and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he turns back - and does a double take.

No way. _No way._

He leans closer towards the mirror, squinting; and - he's not a hundred percent sure, but yeah, there's a definite something there. He turns himself to the side and looks again and - oh god, there it is, the clear, undeniable curvature of a bump pushing his abdomen out, and not a particularly small one either.

Patrick feels his breathing start to pick up hard and fast, loud in the silence of the bathroom and through the sudden ringing in his ears; he strokes a hand over the - the bump, just to make sure it's not like, his abs getting bigger through some weird miracle, or that he's getting fatter from the copious amounts of maple syrup he's been ingesting. But no - the bump is firm, noticeably curved under his hand and in the mirror, and - oh god.

Oh god. He's showing. He's _showing_.

He's sprinting out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom before he knows it, yelling for Jonny. To Jonny's credit, he sits bolt upright in bed immediately, and even in the mess that Patrick's mind is in, he still finds it in himself to be impressed; earthquakes and hurricanes wouldn't wake Jonny ordinarily.

"What? What is it?" Jonny asks urgently, literally swinging himself out of bed to catch Patrick before he tips over.

"Jonny, Jonny, oh my god," Patrick says; he's babbling but he can't stop himself, Jonny's name spilling from his lips.

"What is it?" Jonny says. "Oh, fuck - are you hurt? _What is it?_ "

It's the look on Jonny's face that finally gets Patrick to stop - that frantic, frenzied look of pure anxiety and barely-withheld rage, like he intends to murder whatever's making Patrick go crazy like that; and Patrick grasps Jonny's hands, taking deep steadying breaths.

"I'm fine," he says. "I'm okay, but oh god - Jonny, look. _Look_. I'm starting to show already."

Jonny goes very, very still. "What?"

"Look," Patrick says insistently, and drags Jonny's hand to his belly.

Jonny's hand is hot and dry, like it always is; but the feeling of it spread over the gentle curve of his stomach, his long fingers fanned out on the (now that Patrick's really looking and paying attention) obvious, clear rounding out of it - well, it sends a bolt of warmth straight up into Patrick's chest. He can feel tears start to prickle at the backs of his eyelids. Fuck hormones, but also - holy shit, he's showing. His belly's right _there_ , and Jonny's stroking his hand gently over it, and it's just - it's a lot.

"Wow," Jonny says quietly, his voice hoarse and shaky, and when Patrick looks up at him, his eyes are wide and round with wonder, awe etched into every line of his face. "Wow. Patrick, this is - wow."

"Yeah," Patrick says softly. "Wow."

He drops his eyes again, to Jonny's big hand on his belly, and swallows a lump in his throat. "Crazy fucking week we're having, huh?"

Jonny makes a strangled noise, like he's trying to laugh but choking on it. "Yeah, that's the understatement of the century. God. _Wow._." 

But he makes no move to take his hand away, and Patrick doesn't make him either. 

\---

He calls his mom when Jonny's out of the house grabbing lunch for them both, just because he thinks he might tear up or something and he doesn't want Jonny to see it. It doesn't end up quite that way; his mom puts him on speakerphone and his sisters all squeal to hear the news and demand pictures. 

His dad - well, Patrick hasn't spoken to him since his mother broke the news, and he guesses his dad still doesn't want to speak to him because his mother carefully avoids mentioning anything about putting his dad on the phone or anything like that, so - whatever. If he doesn't want to talk to Patrick, then Patrick sure as hell isn't going to talk to him.

But just as he hangs up his eyes fall on the last ultrasound scan printout Jonny had put into a small frame by the side of his bed, and then he remembers Jonny had sent a copy to Andree; which, in turn, makes him remember he'd promised to call Andree, and that promise has been hanging in the air for months.

It's not exactly something he can put off forever, seeing that Andree's going to be the kids' grandmother and his sort-of mother-in-law, and besides, Andree's never been anything but kind to him. So he takes a deep breath, plucks up his courage, and dials her number.

"Patrick," she says when she picks up; she sounds surprised, but pleased, and her voice carries its usual warmth that it's always had whenever Patrick speaks to her. "This is a lovely surprise, it's so good to hear your voice. Is everything all right?"

And of all things, that simple greeting is what gets Patrick tearing up, when speaking to his family didn't. He swallows and manages to say, "Fine, I'm really great. How have you been? I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner, it was just - "

"It's fine," she says, "I know you have a lot going on, too much, perhaps. Jonathan's told me - you're doing well, then? Not too stressed, or anxious?"

"I'm good," Patrick says; and he realises as the words leave him that he really, really is. He supposes he should be much more stressed out than he is, what with the dumb fake marriage and navigating a pregnancy, but he actually does feel good most days, and he thinks it's helping to have Jonny by his side and supporting him through this. "Jonny's been great. He's a big help. I couldn't - I don't think I could have handled all this without him."

"That's good to hear," she says, warmly maternal. "I'm glad you're both doing so well."

"I - did he tell you we have to get married?"

"Of course," Andree replies. "I admit, I'm rather angry at the Blackhawks for making the both of you do that - but Jonathan says you're both okay with it. _Are_ you truly okay with it?"

"Yeah," Patrick says. "I mean, yeah, it sucks, but - it's easier that Jonny's doing it with me, you know? I probably wouldn't have gone through with this, if it was anyone else."

"Yes, you boys have been inseparable for the past decade," Andree says, sounding amused. Patrick feels his face heat up.

"Anyway - I was calling to tell you, I started to show," he says quickly. "Just this morning, in fact. It's - weird, but it's also super cool. I don't even know."

"Oh!" Andree says delightedly; she asks Patrick more questions on how he looks and feels, and then makes him promise to send her pictures as well.

It's a good talk, and it makes Patrick feel a little bad that he hadn't called her before this, especially when Andree says before they hang up, "Call me anytime you want, Patrick. Don't be a stranger. Any time at all, if you need any help or advice."

"I will," Patrick says, and this time he means it.

\---

When Jonny comes back later - carrying packages with the most delicious smells wafting from them - he sets the food down on the dining table first, and then says, "Hey, I got something else while I was out."

"Hmm?" Patrick asks, barely listening. He's hungry and too busy poking through the food Jonny brought back, trying to decide what he feels like eating at the moment. Maybe the mushroom risotto? But the vongole smells awesome too - 

"For tomorrow," Jonny says, and puts two small black velvet boxes on the table. Ring boxes.

Patrick stops fiddling with the food and stares. He can't - Jonny bought _rings_? The little boxes sit innocuously in front of him, like they're waiting for him to pick them up and open them, but all Patrick feels is confusion and this weird, mild dread. Holy fuck. They'd agreed this marriage was going to be a fake one - but if Jonny's going to do some kind of _formal_ proposal or something -

Patrick can't deal with this. It's not - he doesn't want this to feel any more real than it should.

He can't take his eyes off them, but when the silence drags on uncomfortably long, he finally realises that Jonny's waiting for him to say something. He looks up at him, and Jonny's slightly red in the face, rubbing over the back of his neck, like he does when he's feeling foolish about something.

"Jonny - " Patrick begins.

"Don't - don't think too much into it," Jonny says quickly. "It's just - I mean, when we're at City Hall tomorrow, they'll probably ask us to exchange rings, and it'll be weird as fuck if we turn up without them, right? And while we're - married, for the next year or whatever, we'll have to wear wedding bands or people are going to question it."

"Oh," Patrick says. "Yeah, you're right."

It takes him a few moments to realise that there's a faint pang of what feels like disappointment settling into his chest. Which is - there's _nothing_ to be disappointed about, so what is wrong with him?

"Which one's - mine?" he says. His voice catches a bit on the last word, but Jonny doesn't say anything about it, just picks them both up, opens them, and silently slides one box towards Patrick.

Patrick takes it up in his hand, feeling oddly shaky, as if this is a real ring. It's from Bvlgari, and Patrick's heart stutters a little; he can't believe Jonny bothered going to get rings, just to hold up this pretence, and from a place as expensive as Bvlgari at that. But the ring sitting inside it is reassuringly plain - there are no diamonds or engravings, nothing ostentatious, not that that's Jonny's style anyway. Just a simple, unadorned ring with a bright, polished silvery shine.

"What is it?" Patrick asks.

"Platinum," Jonny answers - and well, that must have cost Jonny a pretty penny. "Both rings are the same - except size. I mean, I had to get them off the shelf, obviously, no time to get something custom made or sized, but this should fit. And if it doesn't, we can always get it resized, when we have time."

"Okay," Patrick says softly. He takes the ring out of the box; it's heavy, glinting prettily in the light. He tries to slide it onto the middle finger of his left hand, but it gets tight halfway down, and he frowns; he doesn't think he can force it all the way down without getting it stuck. Shit, it's definitely not the right size then.

"That's the wrong finger," Jonny says, and before Patrick can say anything, he comes over and takes hold of his hand, pulling the ring gently off his finger. "You're supposed to wear it on _this_ one."

"I knew that," Patrick says, a little snippy; but the breath rushes out of his lungs when Jonny fits the ring at the fourth finger of his hand, and slowly, gently, pushes it down. There's something about the way it looks - Jonny's long fingers holding the ring, his hand clasped in Jonny's other hand, and the way Jonny's carefully placing the ring onto his ring finger - that makes Patrick feel a little dizzy. 

It goes over his knuckle smoothly, and when Patrick next blinks, it's sitting around his finger, gleaming almost white in the light, and Jonny's still holding his hand.

"Perfect fit," Jonny says, quiet.

"How - " Patrick tries to say, and his voice comes out hoarse; he clears his throat. "How'd you know my ring size?"

Jonny shrugs. "Just guessed, as best as I could," he says. "Thought of your hand in comparison to mine. Is the ring okay?"

Patrick can't stop staring at it. "Yeah," he says. "It's good." He rubs over it with his thumb, and for some reason it makes him feel - married, for real. Even though he knows he's not. 

When he has to take the ring off and put it back in its box to wait for tomorrow, he can't lie - that's _definitely_ disappointment he's feeling, but he's fucked if he knows why. He stares ruefully down at his bump. Pregnancy hormones are the worst; he's probably just getting that nesting instinct he's read about in one of those baby books Jonny leaves lying around, needing to have his mate around him, or whatever.

\---

Sharpy actually gasps when he arrives at Patrick's condo the next morning. "Peeks," he says, eyes zooming right to Patrick's stomach. "Holy shit."

"Yeah," Patrick says dryly. He's wearing a suit today, simply because he didn't think it would be _nice_ to wear a sweatshirt to his own wedding, even if it is fake; but he'd had to wear one of Jonny's shirts because it's looser, and leaves the jacket unbuttoned. He's still able to button his suit pants below his bump, although it's already tight around his hips and ass.

For once, Sharpy isn't chirping him or saying anything dumb; he's just staring at Patrick with his mouth open, and then abruptly he sweeps Patrick up in a tight hug. "Oh god. _You're having a baby._ "

"Two babies, you mean. And what, like it's news to you?" Patrick says; but he hugs back anyway. God, he's missed Sharpy. His trade to Dallas had hit harder than he'd thought it would; he's grateful Sharpy kept his house in Chicago and stays in the city over the summer.

"No, it's just - seeing it is a whole different thing," Sharpy says. He pulls back and looks down at Patrick's stomach again. "Boy, you're really showing. What are you, like 14 weeks?"

"Just a little over, yeah."

Sharpy shakes his head. "I remember when Abby was pregnant with Maddy, she didn't pop until pretty late, like close to 20 weeks, maybe. You are going to blow right up with two."

"God, don't remind me," Patrick groans just as Jonny steps into the living room; and then he stops talking, because his mouth's gone dry. Jonny's in a suit like he is - except he doesn't have a baby bump in the way, and the suit is tailored and fitted to every muscular line of his body. He looks _amazing_. He looks hot as hell, and - fuck, Sharpy's staring at him with a knowing grin, so he tears his eyes away from Jonny with difficulty, and frowns at Sharpy.

"Hey, Sharpy," Jonny says, coming up to give Sharpy a hug. "Thanks for coming with us today. Think it'll help Kaner feel a bit better."

"Yeah, wouldn't miss this for the world," Sharpy says gleefully. "Just one thing - no one knows you guys are getting this done today, right? I don't want to have to fight off reporters in City Hall."

Jonny shakes his head. "Nope, no one. We got our license online, and not even Stan knows yet. We just want to get it done quickly, and then tell everyone later."

Sharpy gives Patrick a weird look at that, and Patrick thinks he must have looked like this when they were on the phone and he was asking Patrick if Jonny was _forcing_ him to do this. "Okay. Lead the way, then."

\---

The whole thing is - pretty anticlimactic, as it turns out. Patrick's in kind of a daze; so much so that he doesn't even notice the clerk's mouth fall open in shock when he, Jonny and Sharpy roll up. He only realises she's staring open-mouthed at his belly when Jonny steps in front of him to shield him from sight, a deep frown creasing the space between his brows.

"We're here to sign our online marriage license application and request for an officiant," he says curtly. 

The clerk blinks up at him, and then says in a rush, "Yes, of course - just take a seat, Mr. Toews, Mr. Kane."

Of course, it would be way too much to hope no one would recognise them in City Hall in the heart of Chicago. Jonny and Sharpy flank him as they sit down, but Patrick can hear whispers break out all around them, from the staff to the people waiting for their own ceremonies and licenses. He keeps his head down and wishes he'd brought a hat and a pair of sunglasses - but he'll be damned if he turns up in a beanie to his wedding. Even if it's a fake wedding.

He glances down at his stomach, curved against the soft fabric of Jonny's shirt, and pulls his suit jacket closed over it with some difficulty. He can't button it, but holding it over his belly makes him feel a little better.

Jonny shifts closer to him; he's sitting on the edge of his chair, turned at a weird angle, and it takes Patrick a while to realise that Jonny's positioning himself so that he can block Patrick, at least partially, from view. "You okay?" he asks, and Patrick swallows and nods. He's okay. He has to be okay. He just needs to get this over and done with and then he and Jonny can get on with the actual pregnancy.

It's really a good thing Jonny's been so good and patient about the entire shitstorm; Jonny isn't exactly a paragon of patience, but he's been - really good to Patrick, and protective even if it annoys him sometimes, and he's seized with a sudden wave of gratitude that makes him reach over and clasp Jonny's hand.

Jonny looks down at their joined hands and then up at him. "What's wrong?" he asks. Patrick feels Jonny slot his fingers between Patrick's own, like he doesn't even have to think about it.

"Thank you," Patrick whispers, leaning close to him. "For, you know. Doing all this. With me."

"Yeah, well, my pleasure, I guess," Jonny says dryly; and it breaks the tension somewhat, enough to make Patrick laugh.

"Mr. Kane, Mr. Toews?" someone calls out, and Jonny shoots upright so quickly that it makes Patrick realise he's been just as tense and anxious throughout all this as Patrick is. "This way."

Patrick ignores the shuffling and whispers around them as they're led to a small room; it's bare and functional, just some wooden benches along the walls, a table and two chairs in the middle of the room, the officiant already seated and waiting at the table. He's an elderly man in his sixties, maybe, and he blinks owlishly at them when they enter; his mouth falls open and Patrick knows there's no way he didn't recognise them, but to his credit he recovers fairly quickly, and motions to them to sit down. Patrick turns to see where Sharpy is; he's right behind him, sitting on one of the benches, and he gives Patrick a reassuring nod. 

"Look straight ahead," he mouths, so Patrick does, turning back to look at the officiant shuffling papers around. 

It's literally over in about five minutes; Patrick's in such a nervous daze that he barely hears what the man's droning about, just catches words like "to have and to hold" and "do you take this person", but the next thing he knows is Jonny saying, "I do".

 _That_ jolts him right out of the haze. Shit. Holy shit, they're really doing this. They're getting married, and Jonny said _I do_ , and when Patrick looks over at him he's staring straight ahead at the officiant, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Mr. Kane?" the man says.

"Huh?"

"Do you have Mr. Toews' ring?"

"Oh," Patrick says, groping in the pocket of his jacket. "Sorry, yes, of course I do." He takes the ring out and looks at Jonny, who gives him a small, reassuring nod.

Patrick reaches for Jonny's left hand and slides the platinum ring - identical to his own - onto Jonny's ring finger. Jonny's expression doesn't change, but Patrick sees him swallow as Patrick pushes it down. It makes him feel - strange, somehow, to see a wedding band on Jonny's hand. It's even stranger knowing that he put it there - that it's a symbol of his and Jonny's marriage. 

"Mr. Kane, do you take Mr. Jonathan Bryan Toews to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Patrick hesitates; the moment seems to expand and lengthen, until Jonny gives his fingers a squeeze. Just a light one, but it's enough to remind Patrick that Jonny's still holding on to his hand, maybe hasn't stopped since Patrick reached for him in the waiting room. He's grateful for it now, for the warm solid security of Jonny selflessly getting married for him, just to please the stupid franchise and make the optics of his pregnancy, or whatever it is, look good.

"I do," he says softly.

Jonny takes his ring out, and gently slides it over his finger. He's using his left hand to do it, and the sight of both their rings close together - it makes something strange and comforting and warm and cold all at the same time wash over Patrick.

Fuck. They're _married_. He's married to Jonny, and carrying his children.

"By the authority vested in me by the State of Illinois, I now pronounce you husbands," the officiant says. "You may sign your marriage licenses and the marriage certificate now."

His voice is totally level and neutral, and Patrick's suddenly struck by the thought that he's probably performed this same ceremony thousands of times; Patrick and Jonny probably are the twentieth couple or something today, and yet -

It's strange that something so simple can change the course of his and Jonny's lives, he thinks, looking down blankly at where the small swell of his belly is pushing out against his shirt.

Then Jonny's shaking him gently, guiding his attention to the papers on the table; Patrick signs them, and when he looks up at Jonny, he doesn't know what's showing on his face, but Jonny draws him into a brief hug.

"It's okay. We got this," he says, and it's all Patrick can do to let himself be swept up in Jonny's unwavering confidence and surety and hope that he really _does_ have this in hand.

\---

"Well, I never thought I'd see this in my lifetime," Sharpy remarks dryly as they make their way back to the entrance of City Hall. "Kaner and Tazer, getting married and having kids. Who'd have thought it?"

"Shut up, Sharpy," Jonny says. He's still holding Patrick's hand; Patrick's still feeling all kinds of weird and fucked up, and he's glad Jonny isn't letting go of him. 

"They grow up so fast," Sharpy sighs, shaking his head mockingly at them. He pushes the door open and waits for them to go through first. "Look at you both though, I genuinely can't believe - "

"Patrick! Hey, Patrick, over here!"

"Jonathan, how about a picture on the steps of City Hall with Patrick?"

"Patrick, is it true you both are now married?"

The cacophony of noise and camera flashes as they step out of the building is thunderous and blinding; Patrick stands stock-still in shock for a moment - how the hell did reporters find out they were here, so soon?

Then he's shoved back as Sharpy moves in front of him; his face is as angry as Patrick's ever seen it, and Sharpy just - doesn't get angry, ever, especially not at press. "I need all of you guys to back off," he says, raising his voice above the din. It doesn't work; if anything the mob of reporters and the camera flashes get even more chaotic. There are bright spots behind Patrick's eyelids each time he blinks.

"Back off," Sharpy says again. "I'm not going to repeat myself. Back the f- the hell off before we slap lawsuits on each and every one of you for endangering a pregnant person."

There's a blessed lull in the noise at that; Patrick looks up at Jonny just as he shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over his head to shield him from the media, and everything goes dark around him except the area around his feet. 

"Follow me," Jonny says, grabbing his hand, and Patrick follows blindly. He can hear Sharpy yelling behind him; someone jostles him from behind, and Jonny roars - actually _roars_ at whoever it is. 

"Touch him again and I'll make sure your fucking ass is run out of this town," he's saying; he sounds completely enraged, and this is all just - this is bad, and getting progressively worse, and he's pretty sure Jonny or Sharpy's going to end up punching one of them, and if that happens they're all fucked and the Blackhawks are going to kill either his good friend or his new husband.

But then Jonny's moving again, through the throng, and Patrick concentrates on following him, on looking at his feet going down the steps and onto the street, clutching Jonny's jacket over his head with his free hand. They have to wait by the road for Sharpy to drive up and Jonny to bundle him into the car, but Jonny snarls and swears at only three reporters while they wait, so all in all, it's probably not as bad as it could have been. At least he didn't actually punch anyone out.

"Holy fuck," Patrick says when he's finally in the car, pulling the jacket off his head. "How fucking crazy was that?"

But he's drawn up short at the sight of Jonny next to him; his lips are pressed together in a thin furious line and his face is flushed red. He looks angrier than Patrick remembers seeing him in a long time, and Sharpy's nearly as grim-faced.

"What did you guys do?" he asks, alarmed. "You didn't hit anyone, did you?"

"No, but I wish I did," Jonny spits out. 

"They were lying in wait for you," Sharpy says. "Someone called the media and tipped them off. Probably the clerk in the offices."

"Ugh," Patrick says. He can't believe this is going to be his life from now on - hounded by the press whenever he sets foot outside his door. 

"It'll die down," Sharpy says, as if reading his mind. "They'll find the next exciting thing and move on. Just don't give them anything, no quotes or comments or soundbites, or they'll keep coming for more."

"They fucking better," Jonny says. He still looks furious, and Patrick notices that his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.

He reaches out and takes Jonny's hand in both of his; it's closed into a tight, firm fist, and Patrick concentrates on unfolding the fingers one by one, until his hand goes slack and his fingers are fanned open and Patrick can slot his own fingers between them.

"I'm okay," he says quietly to Jonny, and he can actually see the moment the fury slides off Jonny's face and his features relax. He hasn't been around Jonny for eight years without knowing exactly how to calm him right down.

"Good," Jonny says.

Patrick suddenly wants to just - curl up against him, maybe, and tuck his face into Jonny's neck; he doesn't think Jonny will mind, he's always been a cuddler, but cuddling isn't exactly something they do unless they've just finished having sex - and _that's_ another thing they haven't been doing. 

It's so weird that they're now married, and Patrick's still not sure what it is they really are and what they're doing - or what they have to do next, apart from wait for the babies to be done baking.

So he chooses to lean back in his seat and shut his eyes instead; but then he falls asleep, and Jonny ends up shaking him awake once they arrive back at his apartment, and by that time he's more or less forgotten about his confusion in the face of Jonny ordering dinner for all of them.


	5. part five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some good news - I estimate i'm probably about 3 chapters away from completing this fic?? I likely won't finish it in time for my quaranthon posting date (but i'll at least post a chapter on that day), but the point is - I AM SO CLOSE TO FINISHING. THE BABIES ARE ARRIVING. THINGS ARE HAPPENING. AHHHH /runs around yelling
> 
> I think this fic will end up being 11 chapters when it's done!
> 
> enjoy this chapter - it has sexytimes! - and as always HUGE thanks to my amazing betas heartstrings and trademarkgiggle! this fic would NOT work at all without them both <3 <3

Jonny moves in the same week. They'd debated for a while about Patrick moving to his place instead because it's bigger, but they both decided it makes more sense to not move Patrick and his things all over Chicago while he's pregnant, and they've agreed that the babies will be living mostly with Patrick anyway. 

"Maybe I should get an interior design firm or someone for my apartment," Jonny says in the midst of unpacking his own boxes - thankfully not too many, since it's easy for him to drive back to his own condo to retrieve whatever he wants if he's missed something, and Patrick really doesn't have that much room. "Need to childproof it, and I'm going to have to turn a couple rooms into a nursery and playroom for the kids whenever I get them. And you - you're going to get someone for your guest room for this, right? Do you need names? I know a couple of really good interior designers."

"Jonny, chill out," Patrick says. He's lounging on his sectional and basking in the bright sunlight pouring in from his windows, wearing nothing but a big sweatshirt - literally _nothing_ else, because nothing he owns fits over his waist anymore and the maternity clothes he'd ordered online haven't arrived yet. Plus it's way more comfortable like this anyway. "We have five months till the babies arrive. That's plenty of time. And you're going to be living here anyway, even for a while after they're born. You can do all of your childproofing or whatever later."

"Better to start this earlier and get it out of the way," Jonny says. 

"It's almost hilarious how we're already talking about splitting the kids' time and stuff between our homes," Patrick says jokingly. "Discussing our divorce even though we're barely married." He thumbs his ring as he speaks - he's taken to rubbing his thumb over it at random moments, because he likes the feel of the smooth, perfect metal - but it does make him feel a little, well, wrong, to be speaking of their divorce while he's touching his wedding ring.

"And I didn't even make you sign a prenup," Jonny says dryly. He gets to his feet, lifting a stack of books at the same time; Patrick tries not to stare at the way his biceps flex. "Okay, this should be the last of it - I'm going to put this in your bedroom for now, yeah? We're going to have to find someplace to fit some shelves for my books."

"Yeah, sure," Patrick says, distracted by the sight of Jonny, topless and beautiful and still sporting his golden summer tan, carting a tall stack of books in his arms. But Jonny's only taken a step towards the bedroom when the pile of books begins to teeter dangerously, and two or three slip off the top of the pile, landing on the floor.

"Fuck," Jonny says, annoyed.

"Wait, I'll get them," Patrick says, sliding off the sofa. He bends down with only minimal difficulty to retrieve the books, but when he straightens up, Jonny's staring at him weirdly, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat and eyes wide.

"What?" he asks, blinking at him.

"You - " Jonny begins, and then stops, swallowing. "Never mind."

"No, stop being weird - what's wrong with you?"

"I - are you _naked_ under there?" Jonny says, clipped and abrupt.

Patrick looks down at himself, at the soft baggy sweatshirt draped over his small neat bump and riding up high on his thighs. "Oh," he says, making a futile attempt at tugging it down. "I just - I mean, I don't have anything that fits comfortably anymore, okay? I ordered a ton of maternity clothes online but they haven't been shipped, and my boxers are - they're too tight for my butt now. I'm at _home_ , and I have a _bump_ , and I just want to be comfortable, so stop judging me."

"I - I'm not judging," Jonny says, although he sounds kind of - weirdly strangled, when he says it. And, well, Patrick's not exactly missing the way Jonny's eyes are fixated on his thighs, and probably on the bottom swell of his bare ass.

The intensity of Jonny's gaze makes him realise that it's been nearly five months since the last time they'd fucked, and more than that, how abruptly and desperately horny he's feeling. He's been simmering at a low level of need - and yeah, he's not ashamed to admit that he needs to be fucked - ever since the morning sickness settled down and he moved into his second trimester, but Jonny's never shown any indication that he might want to do anything sexual with Patrick ever again. It's as if he thinks Patrick getting knocked up is some kind of traumatising event that's going to put them both off sex for life.

Until now, at least. Patrick's been sleeping with Jonny on and off for years, and he knows exactly what Jonny looks like when he starts thinking Patrick's being insanely sexy for whatever reason, and Jonny's looking like that now, a flush settling over his cheekbones and a muscle twitching in his jaw as he stares at Patrick.

So he thinks he can't really be blamed for letting his hormones get the better of him and blurting in Jonny's face: "Are you ever going to fuck me, or are you just going to stare at my ass all day until after the babies are born?"

There's about two seconds of absolute silence, and just as Patrick thinks he's going to descend into utter mortification and maybe run into the bathroom and lock himself in there, Jonny drops the books in his arms and they thud loudly onto the floor.

"What the - " Patrick says, but Jonny snatches the two books he'd picked up right out of his hands and flings them carelessly aside. Patrick hasn't even managed to turn his head to see where Jonny threw them before he finds himself being pushed up against the nearest wall.

"Fuck," Jonny's saying, looking a little wild around the eyes, "I thought - you never - I - "

"What is it?" Patrick says. Jonny's body is a long, thick line of heat against Patrick, his solidly muscled thigh wedged between both of Patrick's own, and Patrick's caged in against the wall with no space to move, but he's not afraid; he's never been afraid of Jonny. Instead, he can feel his dick starting to plump up, just from this close proximity with Jonny.

"I thought you didn't want me to touch you ever again," Jonny says in a rush.

"Fuck no," Patrick replies. "I thought _you_ didn't want to touch me - you didn't say or do anything for months, asshole."

"I was trying to be _respectful_ ," Jonny says. "And it's - fuck, you look so hot all the time, you're literally glowing and gorgeous, and it was fucking killing me not being able to touch you, and then you do things like wear my shirts around the house with nothing else on - you're killing me, Patrick."

"Oh my god," Patrick groans. "Stop talking and just - _fuck me already_ , Jonny, god, I already said it, do you need a gilded fucking invitation?"

"Oh, I'm going to," Jonny says. His voice dips into a low growl that sends a delicious shiver of anticipation down Patrick's spine; Patrick feels him card his fingers through the curls at the back of Patrick's head before he tugs ever so gently, a signal for Patrick to tip his face up, which he does, and Jonny kisses him full on the mouth.

Despite the urgency thrumming through his body - and Jonny's, he can feel it - the kiss is gentle, sweet and slow and deep, Jonny's tongue licking into his mouth before he sucks on Patrick's lush lower lip. He pulls away for a moment, just long enough to lick up the smooth line of Patrick's throat, before returning to his mouth; and Patrick kisses back greedily, deepening the kiss, trying to convey to Jonny that he wants more.

Jonny's other hand strokes down his back and over the swell of his bare ass; his fingertips run delicately along the cleft, and Patrick shivers. Fuck, he's so sensitive all over, and he's not even sure if it's just the hormones or the fact that he hasn't been fucked in months. "Get me to the bedroom now," he says breathlessly. "Come on."

He doesn't expect Jonny to literally _scoop him up_ ; the next thing he knows is he's blinking at the ceiling as Jonny carries him to the bedroom, bridal-style, and under ordinary circumstances Patrick would find it embarrassing as hell, but the fact that Jonny's able to lift him plus about ten pounds of baby like this, with no visible effort, is really doing it for him. 

"I hate you," he says, turning his head to mouth at the bulge of Jonny's bicep, thick and solid. "You are so unfairly hot."

"Oh, glad you think so," Jonny says, dry as ever, as he kicks open the door to Patrick's bedroom. Jonny lays him out on the bed, and the moment he's done Patrick sits up and struggles out of the sweatshirt while Jonny fumbles with his own shorts and then grabs the nearly-untouched bottle of lube out of the nightstand, dropping it on the sheets next to Patrick. The excitement's ramping up in Patrick now; he hasn't felt this hot and eager and desperate for so long, his cock already hard, and he reaches down over the small bump of his stomach for it, gives it a couple of strokes just to take the edge off.

Jonny's fully naked now, his perfect, glorious body on show for Patrick's full viewing; his cock is plumped up and it swells even more under Patrick's gaze. It takes a few seconds before Patrick actually realises that Jonny's just - standing there, not doing anything, staring at him the way he's staring at Jonny. 

"Come on, what are you doing," he says, aware that he sounds a little plaintive but not really caring, because he wants Jonny's cock in him right the fuck now. 

"You just - _god_ ," Jonny says in a strangled voice. "You don't - do you know how fucking hot you look right now?"

"I'm swollen and pregnant, what the hell," Patrick says, half-laughing; but he can't help feeling just the tiniest bit smug, maybe, because he's pregnant and showing and his body's all different, but Jonny still thinks he's hot.

"I know," Jonny says, and finally, _finally_ , he's striding over to the bed, covering the distance in a single step, and climbing on top of Patrick. He reaches out to stroke a big hand over Patrick's belly. "Wait - we can have sex, right? I mean - the babies - "

"Oh my god, I thought you'd know that better than me, with all your googling," Patrick says. "Yes, it's safe and even healthy for me to have sex, so _hurry up_."

"I didn't google that," Jonny says, looking shifty, and it takes a while for Patrick to realise that - oh. Jonny hadn't been looking up this topic, because he didn't think he _could_ have sex with Patrick, or that Patrick would want to.

A surge of fondness wells up in Patrick. This _dork_.

"Well, I most definitely can," Patrick says, arching up a little, just enough to see Jonny's eyes being drawn to his nipples. They're already darkened, sensitive and swollen, and Patrick wants to know what it's going to be like for Jonny to fuck him while he's got his mouth on Patrick's extra-sensitive nipples, how good it's going to feel.

"Okay," is all Jonny says, and as if he can read Patrick's mind - which he probably can by now - he leans down and swipes his tongue slowly over Patrick's left nipple, maintaining eye contact with him all the while.

"Oh my - _fuck_ ," Patrick moans, throwing his arm over his face as he arches into Jonny's mouth helplessly. Then he takes his arm away, because fuck, he needs to see this, see Jonny wink at him as he closes his mouth around his taut nipple and sucks. 

All the blood in him rushes south so fast he almost feels lightheaded. It's as if there's a direct connection between his nipples and his dick, lighting the pathway of nerves between those two points on fire. Jonny sucks harder, with just the slightest hint of teeth, and god, Patrick can _feel_ his cock swell impossibly harder, trapped between his belly and Jonny's abs.

"Oh my god," he gasps, worming his hand in between them both so he can get a grip on his cock. It's wet already at the head when he wraps his hand around it, slick and sticky. "Oh god, Jonny - '

Jonny lets his nipple slip from between his lips with a wet pop; the sight of it, dark and swollen, glistening with Jonny's spit, is almost too much for Patrick. He's always had sensitive nipples, but they've never been like this, every light touch or lick from Jonny making him shudder and sob. Jonny kisses a line across his chest and licks over the tight little peak of his other nipple before sucking it into his mouth as well; and at the same moment Patrick feels Jonny's fingers, wet with lube, press between his spread legs and against his hole. Patrick hadn't even noticed Jonny lube his fingers up; his entire being is focused on the feel of Jonny's mouth on his nipples. 

"Can I?" Jonny asks, looking up at him; even his warm breath over his nipple is making Patrick shiver.

"If you don't, I'll kill you," Patrick says. "And - get your mouth back on me - oh, god, yes, like that."

Jonny barely even waits for Patrick to finish before he's closing his mouth around Patrick's nipple again, sliding one thick finger into him at the same time. Patrick cries out, tightening his fist around his cock. He feels pretty much close already, just from this; it's been way too long, he thinks hysterically, even as he pushes his torso upwards, trying to get even closer to Jonny's hot, searching mouth.

Jonny pauses and fumbles between them both for a moment, and then Patrick feels the cool, slippery slickness of more lube dripping between his cheeks as Jonny squeezes more out over his fingers and hole. Then he's rubbing it in around Patrick's rim with his thumb, pushing a second finger in alongside the first, and Patrick feels like his entire body's sparking with heat, he's just so _sensitive_ all over. He knows he's moaning, babbling a stream of words that probably don't even make sense, but he's way beyond caring now, caught in the pleasure of Jonny's mouth and fingers.

"God, you're so fucking hot," Jonny says around his nipple, scraping his teeth lightly across it, while his clever, _horrible_ fingers stroke over Patrick's prostate; all these years of buddyfucking pay off when it comes to knowing the exact angles to maximise Patrick's pleasure. "Fuckin' gorgeous. Especially like this, now that you're showing. It's so _hot_ , knowing that you're full of me. Full of my babies."

"I - oh fuck," Patrick pants. His fingers are clamped tight around the base of his cock, trying to stave off his improbably quick orgasm, but Jonny's goddamn filthy mouth isn't helping at all. "Jonny - stop - I'm gonna come."

"That's okay," Jonny murmurs against his skin; the way his tongue and lips move over his nipple as he speaks makes Patrick's cock jump in his grip. He's close, so close. "I'll make you come again after. As many times as you want."

Patrick can't help it; a sound rips its way out of his throat, one that he'll deny to his dying day is a full-on, embarrassing, needy whimper, and then his cock swells against his grip and he's coming, pulsing over his fist in long spurts. Jonny keeps a steady pressure on his prostate with his fingers as he comes, letting him roll his hips into it, sucking hard at his nipple until it's nothing but a white-hot point of pleasure. He's still moaning and shuddering from the aftershocks when Jonny finally pulls away, his fingers stilling inside Patrick.

"Holy shit," Patrick says, gasping and panting, when he finally comes back to himself. He's still rocking his hips into Jonny's fingers, trembling from the aftershocks, and there's come striped up his belly, sticky on his fingers. Patrick hasn't had an orgasm that hit him that hard in _months_. "Shit, Jonny - come up here."

It's not something they usually do, but he suddenly, desperately wants Jonny next to him and kissing him, and then fucking him again, because as good as that orgasm was, it's not quite enough, not when his body's _needing_ to feel Jonny's cock inside him. Jonny lifts himself from between Patrick's splayed thighs, looking like some tanned Greek god arising from water - and Patrick can't even believe he just _thought_ that, these pregnancy hormones are more potent than he thought - but instead of climbing over Patrick, he bends down instead and licks a long, slow stripe over the come streaks on Patrick’s belly, tongue following the gentle curve of his bump.

"God," Jonny says, his voice tinged with awe, "you're just - you are gorgeous like this."

Patrick feels himself flush; Jonny's always been a dirty talker, but he was never this effusive with praise whenever they used to fuck. He's not entirely sure why the sight of his bump isn't putting Jonny off but seems to actually be revving him up; but whatever, it's not like he's going to complain about getting dicked on the regular, not when no other dude is going to be interested in a visibly pregnant person.

"You really think so?" he asks, swallowing.

Jonny looks up at him. "Yeah," he says softly, and then he lays a gentle kiss right above Patrick's belly button, at the apex of the bump. He maintains eye contact with Patrick as he does so, and it makes a little frisson of - something, something warm and sweet, rush down Patrick's spine.

"Come up here," he repeats; his cock's chubbed back up to semi-hardness, and if this is the kind of refractory period pregnancy's going to bestow on him, the sex at least is going to be off the charts awesome. "Need you to fuck me."

"Yeah?" Jonny says, but he moves up over Patrick's body anyway, supporting himself on his arms, so careful to keep his weight away from Patrick's stomach. He looks good like this, Patrick thinks; thick and golden from the summer, muscles rippling in his arms as he holds himself over Patrick, dark eyes fixed intently on him. 

"Yeah," is all Patrick says. "Where's the - give me the lube."

Jonny fumbles for it and comes up with it eventually somewhere next to Patrick's hip; Patrick takes the bottle, pumps some out into his hand. When he's got his palm wet enough he reaches between them to take Jonny's cock in his fist, and he's gratified to feel that Jonny's still hard, his dick blood-hot to the touch.

"Do we - do you need a condom?" he asks, suddenly remembering. Fuck, he's not even sure he has any.

"No," Jonny says firmly, and Patrick looks up at him, startled. His hand is still around Jonny's cock, warm and slick.

"You mean - "

"Yep," Jonny says, and Patrick - he manages to get enough of his wits together to realise that this means Jonny likely hasn't slept with anyone else since the last time they had sex back in June. He knows Jonny wouldn't lie about something like this; he'd never risk Patrick if there was even a chance they'd need to use condoms.

"Oh," he manages, and looks back down at Jonny's cock in his hand. It looks huge in his grip - and, well, it _is_ huge, his fingertips just barely meeting around it in the circle of his fist. The foreskin's pulled back and Jonny's fat cockhead is gleaming with lube and precome, and Patrick concentrates on that, on how much he wants it inside him, instead of thinking about why Jonny didn't hook up with anyone the whole summer he was in Canada.

"Now," he says finally. "I'm good - now, Jonny."

He sighs out loud when Jonny grips him by his ankles, pushes his legs open gently, and presses in - fuck, but he's missed this, the feeling of Jonny's wide cock prying him open inch by inescapable inch, his insides fizzing as Jonny fucks in deep, until his thighs are flush against Patrick's ass. To Jonny's credit, he always seems to know exactly what and how much Patrick can take, and to that end, how fast or slow he needs to go, when he needs to stop so Patrick can catch a breath; and right now he knows that Patrick doesn't want him to stop at all, not after five months.

"You feel good," Jonny murmurs as he begins to pump his hips slowly, screwing deep and slow and _perfect_ into Patrick each time. He dips his head to kiss Patrick on the collarbone, right where the fading scar from his clavicle injury is, and Patrick takes a second to admire the body control and strength it takes for Jonny to hold himself a scant inch over the bulge of Patrick's belly like this, hips moving smoothly to fuck him while he licks along Patrick's neck. Jonny shifts a little, gets his knees under Patrick's ass to tilt him up a little more, and that gets his cock sliding perfectly over Patrick's prostate with each movement; Patrick gasps, sparks exploding in the pit of his stomach, and clenches down tight around the thick solid hardness of Jonny's cock inside him.

"Not as good as you," he says, somewhat inanely, but Jonny only laughs hoarsely and puts a little more power into his next thrust, getting Patrick there _just right_. Patrick moans and reaches up to tangle his fingers in Jonny's short hair as Jonny kisses down his sternum.

"Yes," he gasps, "just - yeah, fuck, there, Jonny."

"Here?" Jonny murmurs, and licks a fat wet stripe right over Patrick's left nipple, already sensitive from earlier.

And that's - not what Patrick meant, but he's definitely not complaining. "Yeah," he says, screwing his fingers tighter into Jonny's hair, pushing Jonny's face into his chest. "Like this, yeah - oh god, you're fucking me so _good_."

Jonny hums around his nipple, picking up the speed of his thrusts; his cock drags over Patrick's prostate in tandem with each suck Jonny gives his nipple, and then he switches sides, kissing across Patrick's chest as he does so. Patrick chokes around a deep groan when Jonny reaches up to thumb at the nipple he was just working over, wet with his spit, tracing slow circles around the taut swollen tip of it. 

"Yes, fuck," Patrick says, arching up; his cock is fully hard now, bobbing between their bodies with the rhythmic, powerful movements of Jonny fucking in and out of him, leaving glistening streaks of precome wherever it slaps against Jonny's abs or the underside of his bump. "Feels so - yes, _yeah_ \- so good, please - "

He's babbling by now, his orgasm building in increments in his lower belly, tingling in every nerve. Jonny looks up at him from where he's still attached to his chest by his mouth; Patrick sees a flash of his own nipple, slick and swollen and so damned sensitive, before Jonny curls the tip of his tongue over it. And christ, just the sight of that, of Jonny's thick shoulders and arms still holding him up and Jonny scraping his teeth over Patrick's nipple and Jonny's perfect cock pounding into him again and again with devastating precision - well, Patrick's not going to be able to hold anything back.

"Oh my _god_ ," he sobs, voice breaking; he can feel his body curling into itself, every muscle pulled tense, shuddering as he begins to split apart, pinned between Jonny's dick and his mouth. "Jonny, _Jonny_ \- oh fuck, don't stop, fuck me - "

Jonny strokes a big hand down over the curve of his stomach, like he's reassuring himself Patrick's okay there, and then he gets his hand under Patrick's back and fucking _lifts_ his hips up like he's not currently 190 pounds of hockey player and babies. He screws in deep, his teeth biting gently into Patrick's stinging, aching nipple, and Patrick comes even harder than he did the first time. He dimly feels his come stripe over his belly and up as far as his chest, and he thinks he's screaming, but he can't hear it through the roaring of blood in his ears while he shakes apart.

"Fuck, fuck," Jonny pants; he lets Patrick's nipple slip out of his mouth as he pulls himself upright, grips Patrick's hips and fucks in for one, two more thrusts, and Patrick registers dimly blearily that Jonny's coming too, his face screwed up and his cock swelling deep inside Patrick.

When he’s done Jonny pulls out of him slowly, and Patrick feels a warm rush of come seep from his hole; he isn't the least bit surprised at how hot he still finds it when they fuck bareback. Jonny flops over next to Patrick with a tired groan, but when Patrick turns to look at him, he's flushed with exertion, gleaming with sweat, and grinning dopily.

"What's that grin for?" Patrick asks.

Jonny looks over, still smiling. "Fuck," he says. "That was - so fucking good."

"Don't let it get to your head."

Jonny lifts himself on one elbow, looming over Patrick as he does so; Patrick will never admit it out loud, but he likes this, the way Jonny sometimes uses his height and size advantage to make Patrick feel all caged in and caught under his bulk. He'd never liked it much when people called him small, but with Jonny, it feels right, somehow. 

"I meant it, though," Jonny says, voice low. Patrick watches as his eyes travel down Patrick's body, from his face to his chest, where his nipples are two bright, swollen points of soreness - but a _good_ , pleasurable sore - with the imprints of Jonny's teeth around the areola, and then downwards to his gently curving belly, streaked in come. He runs his hand through it, over Patrick's overheated skin, rubbing the come in slow circles over his stomach.

"You're just so - gorgeous, like this," Jonny says. His eyes are fixed on the bump, and god, Patrick truly doesn't know why that gets Jonny going, but it's not like he minds. 

"Like this? You mean like, with my body changing and no longer listening to me, and not being able to play hockey, and my centre of gravity being totally off, and this swollen beach ball pushing me out from the inside, making me look inflated?" Patrick says, half-joking.

It's only after he's said it that he realises he's been - keeping a lot inside, maybe. He's been so excited about showing, so delighted about the babies, and he really _is_. But it's a lot to handle too, seeing the changes in his body, realising that it doesn't belong to him fully anymore, but also to the babies housed inside, knowing that it'll never be quite the same again; that instead of cut abs he now has a rounded bump, and instead of a pro athlete's balance and strength he now carries extra weight in his trunk that throws his gait and everything else off.

Jonny tears his eyes away from Patrick's filthy, come-sticky stomach and looks back up at him. "I think you look beautiful," he says quietly, and he's dead serious, as serious as Patrick's ever seen him. He feels himself flush, suddenly uncomfortable with the way Jonny's being - whatever it is he's being.

"I'd better get cleaned up," he says awkwardly, twisting away from Jonny's gaze; Jonny helps lift him into a sitting position, and he winces at the twinge in his lower back and his ass. God, he definitely should not let this much time pass without having Jonny fuck him again. 

"Stay here, I'll do it," Jonny says, rolling himself out of the bed and stretching up, his limbs long and loose and beautifully muscled. "Are you hungry? Do you want me to get some food for you?"

Patrick thinks about it; but he's surprisingly not really hungry, just relaxed and satisfied and happy. "No, I'm fine," he says, and Jonny quirks a smile at him before heading into the bathroom.

It's nice too, lying in bed while Jonny wipes him down gently with a warm wet cloth, passing it over his stomach and chest - Patrick draws in a breath as the fabric rasps over his nipples - over his spent dick and the stickiness between his legs. Jonny's done this before for him - never let it be said that he's not a considerate lover - but he's noticeably careful in the way he handles Patrick now, and it's definitely something Patrick can get used to, this delicious feeling of being pampered and cared for. He deserves it anyway, carrying Jonny's half-Canadian babies, he reasons.

He's sleepy by the time Jonny's done, languid and loose, and when Jonny cleans himself up and climbs into the bed next to him, Patrick turns so his back is to Jonny and he can cuddle backwards and tuck himself against Jonny's body, wanting to be spooned. Jonny catches on quickly enough and wraps him up in his arms, pressing his face into the curls at the back of Patrick's neck. He cups a big, warm hand over Patrick's belly again, resting it gently on the lower curve of the bump.

"This okay?" he asks.

Patrick hums. "Mm-hmm," he says, already drifting. "'Night, Jonny."

\---

"This is why you're supposed to be married, or at least have a partner around, when you're pregnant," Patrick says, gulping for breath after a fantastic morning where Jonny had woken him up with a blowjob and then fucked him slow and steady for a solid hour, while he sobbed and begged and ended up coming another two more times on Jonny's cock. "Because your libido is off the charts, and you _need_ someone around who's obligated to fuck you even if you're big and bloated and gross."

Jonny laughs from behind him where his face is tucked between Patrick's shoulder blades. "That's what you think, huh?" he says, nuzzling against Patrick's sweat-damp skin.

"Yup," Patrick says, "so like, since you married me and all, you're stuck now. Got to give me that dick whenever my hormones go nuts on me."

Jonny laughs again, a low throaty sound. "Oh, Patrick," he says, lips moving sweetly over the topmost knob of Patrick's spine, his big hand rubbing gentle circles over the swell of his bump, still slick from his come; and it's ridiculous because they _just fucked_ , but Patrick's cock is taking an interest in all this touching and caressing, plumping up against his thigh. "Any time you want it - any time at all. And trust me, it won't be because I'm obligated to do it."

\---

Jonny misses the training camp festival and preseason as well because of, well, Team Canada winning the World Cup and all of that jazz, but he starts working out in readiness for the season, going for near-daily on-ice practices at Johnny's just to work with Paul and some of the coaches, while most of the team are away for the preseason games. Patrick can't lie; it feels weird as hell standing in his condo, watching Jonny pack his gear bag each morning, getting ready for the season, doing all the things Patrick would be doing if he weren't pregnant.

"I wish I could come," he blurts out suddenly. Jonny looks up from where he's taping a couple of his new sticks, fingers moving quick and steady over the grip. Patrick's fingers _twitch_ ; he wants to get his hands on a stick and get out on a sheet of ice. He misses hockey so much it aches.

"Come - where?" Jonny asks, looking confused.

"You know. To the home opener."

Jonny looks at him. "You are - why aren't you coming?"

"Because I'm pregnant and I can't fucking play hockey," Patrick snaps. He puts a hand right over his belly as he says it, trying to will the irritation away; it's not the babies' fault that he's going to miss this season, and there's this irrational part of him that always thinks they might pick up on his bad moods, or somehow understand what he's saying. He rubs over his bump, just a gentle _sorry, babies_ , and takes a deep breath.

Jonny's on his feet and coming over in an instant. "Everything okay?" he asks, eyes focused on Patrick's belly, like he thinks Patrick might be in pain.

"Yeah - of course, I'm fine," Patrick says quickly, letting his hand drop. "I just thought - if I wasn't playing, there's no point turning up since I can't do anything."

Jonny grasps his shoulders and leans down to look him in the eye. "I thought you'd come anyway," he says. "I know you can't - play, obviously, but you can watch. You can come out on the bench, come out on the ice even during practices. Or sit in the stands and watch. Sit in on our team discussions - everyone's not going to suddenly disregard your input and opinions just because you're sitting out a season. I just assumed you would come along - I think everyone else is, too. I know they're all looking forward to seeing you."

"Everyone - like who?"

Jonny looks at him like he's lost his mind. "Our _teammates_. Seabs, Duncs, Hoss - everyone. The coaching staff, too. Everyone just assumed you'd come with me every day and hang out there."

Patrick suddenly feels really, really dumb. "Oh," he says softly. He doesn't even know _why_ he'd never thought of doing that - just following Jonny, watching the guys at every home game or practice. His brain had been so fixated on the thought of him playing - or not playing, as the case may be - that he hadn't even considered another scenario. What the hell.

"You will, right?" Jonny asks.

"Yeah, of course," Patrick says, looking up at him. "I'm sorry, I don't even know what's wrong with me - I never even thought of that."

"You mean you thought you'd just be here, sitting alone at home feeling sorry for yourself and never getting to watch hockey in person again for the next year?" Jonny asks, looking amused. There's an upward quirk at one corner of his mouth.

Patrick punches him lightly on the bicep. "Shut up. I have pregnancy brain, I'm allowed."

"Yeah, blame everything on being pregnant, why don't you," Jonny deadpans; but then he suddenly bends down and gives Patrick a quick, unsolicited peck on the lips. "I gotta finish packing, but I'll be done soon, and we can go get some food, yeah?"

It takes Patrick a while for his mind to snap back into place. "Yeah," he says, a little flustered by Jonny's sudden, sweet kiss. It feels - good, somehow, to be cared for like this, to know Jonny maybe likes him enough to care for him and lavish affection on him, likes him as more than just a fuck buddy or a baby incubator. Like they're a real couple.

Even though they're well, not.

"Yeah, okay," he says. "I'll be there. For the home opener."

"That's the spirit," Jonny says, and shoots him a crooked grin that somehow looks really, really unfairly attractive on him. 

Patrick's never thought of this before - but all of a sudden, he finds himself thinking about whether the babies will look like Jonny, if they turn out to be boys. He kind of hopes they will. Jonny's overwhelming, and too intense sometimes, and dorky as hell, and occasionally he does things that make Patrick think he's downright idiotic, but there's no denying Jonny's smoking hot. 

It wouldn't be that bad, he supposes, if the twins look like him.

He cups his hand over his bump again, rubbing absentmindedly, and thinks: _wow, I'm getting maudlin in my old age._

\---

The home opener is - it's weird. It's weird not playing, not getting ready and gearing up with the guys. Patrick's conflicted; he's not used to feeling like this, except the couple of times he was injured and had to sit out for a few weeks. He doesn't like this feeling. He _hates_ sitting games out, watching from the management box or on a TV in the players' lounge. And he's not injured now, but he's been put on LTIR anyway thanks to the CBA clause for pregnant players, so it feels pretty much the same, like he's missing a season due to circumstances out of his control and which he never asked for. 

But at the same time - it feels like he's _home_ the moment he steps into the United Center, like he's doing the right thing. When he enters the locker room with Jonny behind him, the room falls silent for a second; and then it explodes into noise and movement, with the guys yelling his name, coming up to him, giving him fistbumps and shoulder bumps and hugs. 

"Slow down, guys," Jonny says, laughing a little, shoving an over-exuberant Shawzy out of the way before he can barrel into Patrick. "Come on - give him some air."

Seabs knocks his shoulder into Patrick's - but noticeably gentler than he'd have done it usually. "Good to see you, Kaner," he says. "You feeling good?"

"Really good," Patrick assures him. He's wearing his own jersey - even though he probably should have worn a suit since it's game day, and fuck that noise about him not playing - because he'd wanted to wear something oversized to give his bump a little bit of cover, with all the fans and cameras around at the UC.

"Jonny looking after you, eh?" he says, shooting Jonny a strange look that almost reads as amusement to Patrick. "I'm shocked you haven't killed each other yet."

"Yeah, well, you know," Jonny says, rubbing the back of his neck in that way Patrick knows means he's feeling awkward or embarrassed about something - but what would he have to feel embarrassed about, he's not the one who got pregnant. "Last I heard, it was a crime to kill your husband, so."

"I still can't believe it," Shawzy says, crowding close. "Kaner and Tazer! Married! Who would have thought it? I mean, we didn't even _know_ you guys were - you know, in a relationship."

Patrick exchanges a look with Jonny. They'd both agreed beforehand, with the acquiescence of the front office, that their one-year marriage plan would be kept secret from everyone but the very top executives, Brisson, and their families. "The fewer people who know about this, the fewer chances there are for this to get out," McDonough had said, and well, Patrick was already anxious enough about plenty of other things that he was more than glad to get the 'how hard will my teammates judge me for fake marrying our captain' part out of the picture. But he's starting to feel that it's going to be - a little difficult, maybe, to get these guys who know them so well to believe that they're in a real, genuine loving relationship.

"We don't have to tell you nosy bastards everything that goes on in our lives," Jonny says, and catches Shawzy in a headlock. Patrick finds himself profoundly grateful in that moment for Jonny's abilities to distract people like Shawzy.

Q comes in then, while Shawzy's head is trapped under Jonny's arm and he's flailing his arms and struggling dangerously close to Patrick. "Come on, guys," he says loudly, and Jonny loosens his hold just enough for Shawzy to wriggle out. "Let's get your gear on for warmups, hurry up."

He turns to Patrick, and sticks out his hand; Patrick takes it, feeling oddly self-conscious. Q's a great coach, but he likes to stay out of the team's private lives, and so far Patrick has no idea what Q thinks of his star winger having to sit out an entire season, potentially dashing the team's Cup hopes, because he let the captain knock him up.

"How're you doing, Kaner?" Q asks, gruff but kind at the same time.

Patrick looks up at his coach, and the relief that suffuses him when he sees Q's understanding face almost makes him feel a little dizzy. 'I'm good, coach," he says. 

"Congrats on your marriage, and your pregnancy, obviously," Q says, and he actually cracks a smile. "Take care of yourself. We need you back for next season, yeah?"

"Yeah," Patrick says, and is embarrassed to hear the word come out cracked. He clears his throat. "Yeah, of course."

"I'll make sure he comes back raring to go," Jonny interjects.

"Good to hear that," Q says, and with another small smile and a pat on Patrick's back, he goes out of the locker room, leaving Patrick a little breathless with sheer relief.

Q's reaction was one that Patrick had been afraid of - years under his coaching had made him immune to Q's hot temper and loud voice, but if Q had blamed him for - any of this, he didn't think he'd have been able to deal with that; but now, it feels like something's settled in his chest, something that allows him to finally _breathe_ , and actually be able to watch this game from afar, and every other game this season.

Jonny leans over and squeezes Patrick's hand, almost an unconscious gesture, and Patrick's first reaction is to pull away because - fuck, they're in the locker room in front of their coaches and equipment managers and teammates - but then he remembers they're _married_. They're supposed to act like a happy married couple. So he stays put when Jonny brushes a quick kiss over his cheek, and tries to look as if all this kissing and touching is perfectly normal for them both. 

"See you after the game," Jonny says. 

"Go get 'em, tiger," Patrick says, socking Jonny gently in the bicep, and it's cheesy but Jonny smiles down at him with his eyes all crinkled and pleased, and - well, Patrick can't really feel anything else about that other than happy, somehow.

\---

"Well, that sucked," Patrick says with a sigh, flopping down on the sofa dramatically the moment they get home.

It _did_ suck; everything about it did, from having to watch the game up high in the management box, to being shown on the jumbotron at intermission - the UC was rocking, people stamping and clapping and cheering when he stood up and waved, but Patrick's pretty sure he heard a few boos in the crowd as well - to losing the home opener against the fucking Blues.

"Fuck the Blues," he says out loud, tugging his shoes off. His bump presses against his thighs as he leans down, and it occurs to him that pretty soon, he might not even be able to bend over and Jonny will have to take his shoes off for him, probably.

He expects Jonny to say something in agreement, but Jonny doesn't respond; he goes into the kitchen without saying a word, and Patrick wonders just how pissed Jonny is about the loss. He used to get into his own head all the time whenever they lost a game, shutting himself behind a wall of fury and disappointment, and even though he's a lot better about it now and has stopped working out like a maniac after losing games, or taking all the blame for a loss, Patrick knows it always feels shitty to lose a home opener. Especially after all the interviews Jonny had given leading up to it where he'd been talking about how important it was to come out hungry and win without Patrick, win _for_ Patrick.

He cups his hand over his bump - he's started getting into that habit, shit, he's such a cliched pregnant person now - and, well, he doesn't regret his decision, never will, but whenever he thinks of hockey and the Blackhawks needing to get through this year with the full weight of the season on Jonny's shoulders - it's not a good feeling. He's seen how the media tears Jonny down when the team doesn't perform. It's not so bad when Patrick's there with him to share the blame and the burden, but now - 

Jonny comes back out of the kitchen and hands him a bottle of ice-cold water, along with a tub of Greek yoghurt and a bottle of maple syrup; when Patrick grabs them, he sinks into the sofa next to him and turns the TV on without saying a word.

Patrick tears the foil open on the tub and carefully pours a spoonful of maple syrup over the creamy deliciousness inside. "Hey," he says, keeping his tone casual and not looking at Jonny. "You okay?"

Jonny grunts; and that's it, that's _all_. Patrick hasn't heard him grunt like this after a loss for like - years, probably. He's halfway through licking the maple syrup off his spoon, but that low, angry noise coming from Jonny makes him put his spoon and yoghurt down and turn towards him.

"Hey," he says again, careful. There's an arm's length of space between them, and Patrick thinks it might be better if he closed the gap and talked properly to Jonny, so he scoots over closer until he's pressed against Jonny's side. Jonny keeps his eyes on the TV, which is showing some late night talk show, but Patrick's surprised when he lifts his arm and curls it over Patrick's shoulders, allowing him to tuck close into Jonny, under his arm.

Patrick makes absolutely no excuses for himself for curling right in and resting his head on Jonny's shoulder. It's been a long night, and he's pregnant, and hormonal, and tired.

"It's okay," he says quietly. "It's just one game."

"It's the home opener," Jonny says. He sounds like he's forcing the words out between his teeth.

"It's not the first home opener we've ever lost, come on."

"This is different," Jonny says, and Patrick - understands why.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and turns his head a little so his cheek is pressed into the spot between Jonny's collarbone and pec. Jonny's not wearing a shirt, and his skin is very warm.

Jonny's arm tightens around him. "Don't say that," Jonny says, low and fierce. "Don't you ever - it's not your fault, none of this is."

Patrick stays quiet, because - he doesn't really know what to say after this. What's he supposed to do? Ask Jonny if Jonny regrets all of this? Or if he resents Patrick for deciding to keep the babies and dragging Jonny into this mess, and by extension the team?

"I just wanted us to win, so we could shut those douchebags up," Jonny says, and - what? 

"What?" Patrick asks, bewildered. He tries to sit up, but Jonny catches him and tucks him back under his arm, and - okay, well, it is pretty comfortable, Patrick's happy not moving for a while even if his yoghurt's melting on the table. "What douchebags? What happened?"

"You didn't hear them?" Jonny asks.

It takes a few seconds for it to click into place in Patrick's brain. "Oh," he says. "I mean, yeah, but that was - nothing. I get booed all the time, you know that, every time I set foot in Nashville or St. Louis - "

"We were at _home_ ," Jonny says. "These were people calling themselves Blackhawks fans, and they booed _you_ , and I wanted to - "

"Smash their faces into the glass? Into the ice?" Patrick says, trying to keep it light and joking.

"All of that. More," Jonny says, and it's almost a growl. He has his hand curled round Patrick's bicep now, his thumb stroking over it - over the 88 stitched into the sleeves of his jersey. It surprises Patrick a little to hear how angry Jonny really is, how much he's actually holding in.

"I'm fine, you know," he tells Jonny with a sigh. "It's not - ideal, obviously, like who wants to get booed at home - but I kind of brought this on myself, right?"

"You didn't get pregnant on your own, christ," Jonny bites out.

"Mary, not Christ," Patrick says, biting the insides of his cheeks.

"What?"

"You're calling me by the wrong name. Mary was the one who got pregnant. On her own. Or well, no, she didn't really, but I'm not going to get into Catholic doctrine with you now."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jonny says; but when Patrick lifts his chin a tiny bit to look up at him, there's a small smile breaking out on his face. "No, stop joking around - that was shitty of those people and you know it. And this is _not your fault_ , and you know that too."

"I know," Patrick agrees. "But there's nothing we can do about it, right? You stewing here isn't going to stop people booing me. They're going to keep doing it until I come back next season - so what you need to do now, captain, is pull up your socks and get back out there and keep winning. So they don't have a reason to do it."

"That's exactly what I was trying to do - and I _couldn't_ ," Jonny says, frustration bleeding back into his voice.

"But you _will_ ," Patrick says. "It's one game, Jon. It's the first game of a long season. You guys could go on a tear next game and have another 21-game unbeaten streak. It's happened before."

"Yeah, it happened when you were playing. With me," Jonny says. He sighs, and shifts his grip a little, tucking Patrick even tighter against him. "Can we - how can we do this without you?"

"You can," Patrick says. "I know you can. You always have. When the team doesn't play well, when I'm in a slump - you're the one who puts this team on your back and drags us there. If anyone can get this done, it's you." He pushes himself upright with a hand on Jonny's thick thigh; Jonny's grip tightens for a second before it lets up, like he's reluctant to let Patrick move from him, but settles once Patrick's sitting up and looking at him.

"If this whole situation was reversed," Patrick says quietly, "I couldn't do it without you. Honest. But - you can. I know it."

Jonny's gazing back at him, and Patrick can't help the tiny shiver that ripples down his spine when Jonny's eyes lock on his. Jonny's stupid shark eyes have always had this weird effect on Patrick where he finds it hard to look away, but it almost hurts to look right into them when they're so intense and electrifying. But it means he sees the exact moment when the intensity seems to break, and Jonny visibly relaxes - just a little, but it's there in the slight slump of his shoulders, the small upwards quirk of his lips, and the way his eyes soften.

"Well," Jonny says, "I'm glad to know you have so much faith in me. No pressure then."

"None at all," Patrick agrees, and then on impulse, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of Jonny's mouth.

It's just to comfort Jonny, make him feel a little better. He's not expecting Jonny to turn his head and kiss him back, full on the lips, his mouth warm and soft.

Patrick lets his eyes flutter shut, and feels Jonny's other hand come to rest on his bump. He cups his hand over Jonny's, and they sit there for - Patrick doesn't even know how long - kissing slowly, Jonny's mouth gentle and not the slightest bit urgent, their hands curved over his baby bump, and when Jonny eventually pulls back, it takes Patrick a second to remember how to breathe again.

"What was that for?" he asks; he can't even remember - why were they kissing in the first place? Oh, right - he was trying to make Jonny feel better for, well, something. He's sure it'll come back into his brain eventually.

"Thank you," is all Jonny says. He gives Patrick's belly a gentle pat, squeezes his fingers, and then settles back into the sofa, letting his arm drape loosely over Patrick's shoulders, and it's like - the moment never happened, like everything's just snapped back to the normal _them_. "You gonna eat your yoghurt or let it get warm?"

"I - I'm eating," Patrick says, blinking. He grabs it from the table, and then leans back into Jonny; Jonny gives his bicep another squeeze when he does. "Can we watch something else?"

"What do you want?"

"Put Netflix on and let's see."

"Okay," Jonny says agreeably - which, again, is rare for him, he's always bogarting the remote - and Patrick settles into that comfortable nook in Jonny's side, and lets himself relax.


	6. part six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so - obviously I did not manage to finish this fic in time for the quaranthon :( it's now at 85k words and counting dlkjflkdf :( but i'm not far from finishing!! and I've written something like 40k words during this quaranthon alone, which is awesome. I couldn't have done it without my fellow mods, trademarkgiggle and heartstrings!! you guys are AMAZING <3
> 
> thank you to everyone who's still following along to this too! there are definitely more updates to come, because i'm gonna finish this fic by the end of the year even if it kills me :(
> 
> there's a porny scene in this chapter! there's some dirty talk and impregnation kink involved, just in case that sort of thing is not your bag!

It takes some getting used to - this whole staying at home alone thing while he watches Jonny pack his bags and go for practices, for games, for road trips. He's gotten over that little pang of longing and bitterness that aches in his chest whenever Jonny leaves, with his Blackhawks duffel slung over his back - or, well, got over it as much as he can, which is to say not very much at all - but it's the boredom and the loneliness that really eats at him. He misses the ice, the clatter of skates and sticks on it; he misses the bright lights of hockey arenas and the roar of crowds; he even misses the endless travelling, going from city to city in a blur of fatigue. He misses the United Center and his teammates, and he misses Jonny. 

Jonny calls him every night when he's out of town, and they dissect the day's game together, discussing the power play and the line combinations like they always used to do when Patrick was still playing and they'd be holed up in their hotel room, too keyed up to sleep but too tired to fuck; and it helps a little, but it's - not as good as being there, obviously.

He tries to fill his days with what he can - he's still exercising, though he's scaled his workouts down to gentle repetitive Pilates sets which Paul Goodman worked with another trainer to devise for him; his belly's too big and heavy now for him to do much more than that, and he's worried that if he strains himself too much, it could be bad for the babies. He doesn't even know what is 'too much' in terms of exercise, but he reasons that it's better to err on the side of caution.

Goodman advises him that in a couple of weeks he should scale the Pilates down even more and perhaps start looking into prenatal yoga, so he spends a few days searching for a studio near his condo that offers both prenatal yoga and a decent amount of privacy. He finally comes across one that has good reviews on Yelp and offers private one-on-one sessions with their instructors, so he books a trial class and ticks one thing off his list.

He also begins looking for interior designers, checking out websites online and getting recommendations from friends - it's already November and he has the distinct feeling that it's going to take him longer than he thinks to find someone good enough and decide on how to design the nursery, and then there's the time it'll take to remodel his guest room on top of that.

Eventually, despite all the things he tries to do to fill his time, there's only so much Internet and Netflix one previously very active person can take, so he starts taking daily walks, just to get out of his apartment and feel himself moving around outdoors. He'd kept himself cooped up at home for most of the past few months, too wary of being photographed, but going out and feeling crisp fresh air on his face, seeing people around him, shopping for baby things in shops where he can actually pick up and touch the stuff he wants to buy - it helps to keep his spirits up a little, while Jonny's away and his teammates are playing without him and he misses hockey so much it's almost a physical ache. He makes sure to go out with sunglasses and a hat on always, and since the weather's turning cold he can get away with wearing long coats now that do a fairly good job of covering his bump from prying eyes.

On one of those walks, he passes by a store that kind of looks like a smaller version of an Apple store - the shopfront is all stark white and sleek chrome, but when he peeks through the window, he sees what looks like a class or something: a group of people in aprons and hats, standing at long tables. He stops out of curiosity, and it takes a few seconds for him to realise that it's probably a cooking or baking class.

The sign above the door says _The Chopping Board_ , and when he googles it on his phone, he realises that he's right. He glances in again, and what strikes him is how much fun the people in there seem to be having - they're laughing, talking across the room at each other, their aprons patchy with food stains.

Patrick's never thought of learning to cook or bake - he's never needed to, not when the Blackhawks nutritionists and chefs feed them so well and his meal delivery services are perfectly tailored for his dietary needs - but he thinks he wouldn't mind learning how to, now that he has all the time in the world and he's bored out of his mind most days. So he bookmarks the google page, and when he gets a chance to look through the class calendar at home, he finds that they actually offer a series of classes online via video link, so he won't need to stand on his feet for hours amongst strangers, and where the available menus can be tweaked for dietary restrictions, including for pregnancy. 

The November online classes are fully booked, but the December schedule is already open, and he signs up for a series of six classes immediately. 

It makes him feel better knowing that at least he's going to have something to _do_ in a few weeks apart from just sitting at home and waiting for Jonny.

\---

The three interior designers Patrick has shortlisted come back to him with their portfolios of design schematics and ideas for the nursery - he throws himself fully into the project, because getting the nursery done for the babies is something he's actually really excited about. He keeps Jonny involved and updated on anything to do with the twins, including the remodeling. Jonny's interested, but he also seems perfectly chill with letting Patrick handle it, only occasionally offering an opinion or idea, which is so unlike how Jonny usually is that it kind of throws Patrick for a loop. It takes Patrick some time to figure out that Jonny's holding back because he doesn't want to force his ideas onto Patrick, because he _wants_ Patrick making these decisions for his home and the babies without Jonny trampling all over them and trying to take control.

"Nope, I'm good with whatever you choose," Jonny says when Patrick brings it up with him. "If you have anything you can't decide on and you want to go through it with me, I'm here - and I'm going to pay for whatever you think you want - but I think this is good for you. You're always telling me how bored you are - is it any better now that you have this to do?"

"I mean, yeah," Patrick admits. "It's fun planning the nursery. But - there are going to be times when I want us to be able to discuss - " Then he registers what Jonny said, and sits upright. "Wait, what do you mean, you're going to pay for it?"

"Exactly what I said - I'll pay for the remodelling, all of it."

"We're splitting it," Patrick says.

Jonny turns towards him and cups his cheek, leaning down to give him a kiss, and - it's dirty pool, it really is, Jonny keeps laying these sweet little kisses on him whenever he wants to distract Patrick and make him shut up; and the worst part is, it _works_ all the time.

"Let me deal with that, okay?" Jonny says as he pulls away. He stays close enough that his lips brush Patrick's as he speaks, and then he kisses Patrick again, a slow, sweet, mind-stealing kiss that leaves Patrick feeling a little weak in the knees. "You've got a lot on your plate already - you're doing all the heavy lifting here, talking to the designers, going through all those schematics and stuff - let me take care of just this one thing."

And - all Patrick can do is nod, because what's he expected to do, really, when Jonny's applying all his persuasive skills like this.

"You said you wanted to show me some of the swatches," Jonny prompts him.

"I - yeah," Patrick says. He flips open the folio one of the IDs had sent him, with swatches of materials and colours for wallpaper. "I kind of like this dove grey - but maybe it's a little dull for a nursery? Maybe we should go for brighter colours - this mint green is really nice, I think. Or the pale yellow?"

"Hmm," Jonny says. He curls his arm around Patrick and pulls him in closer, in a gesture so familiar and casual that Patrick might not even have noticed he was doing it, except that Jonny's hand finds its way to his bump and strokes it, and _that's_ something Patrick's always hyper-aware of, how much Jonny likes to touch his baby bump. "I remember reading that bright colours are better for babies - something to do with stimulation and helping their development. I need to look it up again, but yeah, either the green or yellow would be nice for the nursery."

And that's how, almost before Patrick knows it, they've hired an interior designer, and Jonny's writing a fat check for all the top-grade work they need to have done, the best quality baby-safe furnishings and fittings, and the work on the babies' nursery begins in earnest. 

\---

Amidst all of this, he almost forgets how deep into November they're getting, until one night when Jonny calls him from San Jose and reminds him that it's his birthday in two days, and that Jonny's making sure he comes home in time for it. 

"Wait, what," Patrick says. He takes his phone from his ear and puts Jonny on speaker before he thumbs to the home screen, and - god, it's November 17th already? "Oh my god. I forgot my birthday was coming."

"Oh, really?" Jonny says. "I guess that means you won't mind if I don't get you a present, right?"

"Don't you dare," Patrick says right away, and all Jonny does is laugh. Patrick frowns, even though Jonny can't see him. "You _did_ get me something, right? You always do."

"I don't know," Jonny says, his voice light and teasing. "Guess you'll have to wait to find out."

"You're a dick," Patrick says. "Don't come back unless you have a nice gift for me."

"I thought I was already the greatest gift of all," Jonny says, and that's just - he's such a _dork_ and he thinks he's so funny and Patrick -

Ordinarily he'd just think this was such a dumb joke and so typical of Jonny, but the tide of emotion that's threatening to swamp Patrick shocks him a little. Because yes: Jonny's been amazing. He moved in and he stepped up and he's taking care of Patrick, and he's shielding Patrick from the front office and the press and the fans, and even in these few short months of living together Patrick hasn't gotten sick of Jonny and his stupid water bottles and his open-mouthed sleep-breathing like he thought he might have before all of this, and when Jonny's away he _misses_ him. Misses having him around the condo, his warm, firm body against his back in bed, even his dumb dorky jokes.

Jonny's been so great, and he's going to be a great father to their children. The person who gets to marry him for real some day is one lucky motherfucker.

Patrick swallows against the weird lump in his throat. "Gift or nothing," he says, and hopes Jonny doesn't notice the wobble in his voice.

"You'll see," Jonny replies, warm and soft. "When I'm home."

"Come home soon," Patrick says, equally soft. And then he makes an excuse to hang up before he slips and tells Jonny just how great he's been and how much he misses him not being around. Jonny doesn't need any excuse to get an even bigger head.

\---

Jonny takes him to Oriole for his birthday dinner, which, Patrick doesn't even know how he pulled _that_ off. He's been wanting to go to Oriole since he read about it being awarded two Michelin stars a couple of months ago, but the hype around it has been insane and it's been impossible to get a table, even with his Amex Centurion concierge.

Oriole doesn't really have a dress code, but he dresses with special care for the occasion; not just because it's his birthday, but because, well, he's dying to spend some time outside of his condo, having a nice dinner, and he doesn't even care about the curious prying stares he'll most definitely get, because he'll be with Jonny. 

It's the thought of going out with Jonny on a celebratory day, in a way that feels very much like a date, that pushes him into wearing a pair of skinny maternity slacks that hug his legs and hips and end under his bump, and a long-sleeved, fitted sweater in a soft mauve which stretches tightly over the bump. He looks at himself in the mirror; he _thinks_ he looks good, but his belly is on full display in this outfit and there's absolutely no hiding that he's pregnant, and he's going to go out with Jonny and most definitely be photographed, but - Jonny likes his baby bump, and he'll keep curious onlookers away from Patrick, and being pregnant isn't going to be something Patrick's ashamed of.

He runs his fingers through his hair; it's very thick now - thank you pregnancy hormones! - and curls in lush ringlets around his face. He's reaching for the gel when Jonny says from behind him, "No - no gel, please."

Patrick turns around and finds himself a little breathless at the sight of Jonny leaning against the doorway, looking at him. He's in a jacket and a shirt with the top few buttons undone, his shoulders thick and his thighs straining against the slacks he's wearing, and Patrick hates how casually, effortlessly hot Jonny looks like this. He can't even blame this on the pregnancy - Jonny's always looked far too good, with his stupid undone buttons, all the time.

"My hair's a mess," he says out loud, licking his lips. 

Jonny straightens up and comes into the bathroom, and reaches out to run his fingers through his curls. "No, it's not. Please leave it alone. Trust me, the gel does you no favours."

He looks down at Patrick, and adds, "And you look _amazing_ right now, like this."

Patrick feels himself flush. "Is it - I don't know. Is it too much?" He puts a hand self-consciously on his belly, feels the stretch of soft knit fabric over it.

Jonny's eyes show nothing but pure, naked admiration. "Too much? Baby, I don't think you realise how gorgeous you look." He presses closer to Patrick, and - Patrick's definitely not feeling it wrong - he's already half-hard, just looking at Patrick, curving his hand around his hip with his thumb rubbing gently along the underside of his bump, over the support band of his slacks.

It's very flattering to have someone like Jonny all over him even when he's pregnant, wanting him so much. Patrick can't lie.

"I - okay," he says, flustered into putting the bottle of gel down. Jonny's still touching him, his fingertips pressing gently into the swell of Patrick's ass, and god, he smells so good - he's wearing Patrick's favourite cologne.

"I can't wait to get you home after dinner," Jonny says in a low voice, and well, fuck, now Patrick's getting a little hard too, from the way Jonny's looking at him and touching him and the way he _sounds_. "Or maybe we should cancel the dinner and stay in, eh?"

"No way," Patrick says, steeling his resolve, and gives Jonny a little shove, because they're going to have to stop touching each other if they want to make it out of the front door. "We are not wasting that reservation you got. I've been wanting to go to Oriole for months and - it's my _birthday_."

Jonny laughs. "I know," he says. He leans down to give Patrick a quick peck on the lips. "But after dinner - "

He trails off, but Patrick knows exactly what he means, and shivers.

It's going to be a hell of a birthday.

\---

The food at Oriole is exceptional, but to his mild annoyance, Patrick can't _concentrate_ on what he's being served. He's wanted to come here for months, and now that he's here, all he wants to do is get home and let Jonny take him to bed.

Jonny's not making it any easier on him; all he has to do is look at Patrick a certain way and smirk, and Patrick's knees start to tremble. It's a good thing they're sitting down, and also a good thing his lap is covered with a napkin, because he's definitely going to have to go through this dinner half-hard the whole time.

Jonny leans over and puts his hand on Patrick's thigh, high up enough that if he moved his fingers an inch to the right, he'd be able to feel Patrick's swollen dick. "How's the food?" he asks. 

Patrick looks down at - whatever he's been chewing on distractedly - oh, yes, the baked oyster with pork consomme, breadstick wrapped in a slice of jamon iberico, and quince, beautifully plated in a handmade ceramic bowl that's shaped like an oyster shell. Jonny got his oyster raw, but obviously he'd been thoughtful enough to inform the restaurant that Patrick's tasting menu needs to be tweaked to accommodate his pregnancy, because they haven't served him anything raw, even during the sushi course.

"It's delicious," he says. It really is, too, and the restaurant has done magnificently in serving him substitutions for raw foods and cheese. Now if only he could think more about his food and less about Jonny's hand on his thigh.

"Good," Jonny says. He looks like a man who's well-satisfied with his choices in life: taking his pregnant fake husband to an expensive Michelin-starred restaurant, taking care of him, making sure he's having a good time. He moves his hand upwards to pat Patrick's baby bump gently, and as he does so his knuckles graze past Patrick's dick, and Patrick bites his lip so he won't jump Jonny right here, or tell Jonny he wants to go home and get fucked _now_. He's not even sure if Jonny's doing it on purpose or not - he just looks smug, and he's not saying anything about whether he felt how Patrick's cock is plumped up in his tight slacks, but then again Jonny often looks smug even when he has no reason to be.

Damn him.

They're on the meat course - grilled Wagyu beef topped with puffed rice and a beef reduction, medium rare for Jonny and medium well for Patrick - and Jonny waits for the plates to be set down and the waiter to leave after explaining the course, before he says, "By the way - "

Patrick turns towards him just as he pulls out a small, square box from the inside of his jacket which he puts in front of Patrick, next to his plate. It's black and embossed with the Bvlgari logo, and for one shocked moment Patrick's brain flashes back to that day a few weeks ago when Jonny bought them both wedding rings from Bvlgari. Is Jonny - is he intending to propose again, or what?

His thumb finds his wedding ring, sitting snug on his left index finger, and he has to rub his thumb pad over it furiously before his brain kind of settles down and decides that no, of course Jonny's not proposing again, what the hell, they already have rings and their marriage is just for show and - 

"You're not going to open it?" Jonny asks.

Patrick realises that he's just been staring fixedly at the box while thumbing his wedding ring, and feels himself flush. "I am," he says quickly, and picks the box up. It's bigger and flatter than a ring box, and it makes him feel silly that he thought Jonny had bought him another ring, for whatever dumb reason.

He pops the box open, and stares at the item inside.

"Is it a - " he begins; he thinks he knows what it is, but - 

"Yeah, a pendant for your necklace," Jonny says. He reaches to run his fingers through Patrick's curls at the nape of his neck, and his fingertips settle on the gold chain Patrick always wears, the one with the diamond 88 that he'd bought for himself when they won their first Cup. Patrick can feel him gently stroking over the chain and his neck, and shifts in his seat, because any more of Jonny touching him this way and he's heading right into a full-blown boner.

The pendant's white gold, and cut into the shape of two smiling, swaddled babies, their heads close together, their little hands joined. Patrick brings the pendant closer, and marvels at the intricate workmanship: every little groove and line of the babies' swaddling cloth and their tiny fingers and tiny baby features are perfectly executed - down to the dimples in their cheeks, nothing but the smallest of indentations cut by a laser. The babies' eyes are round blue sapphires, and their swaddling cloth is set with diamonds.

"Oh, _wow_ ," he breathes. "This is - Jonny, it's stunning."

"I hoped that you'd like it," Jonny says. "Happy birthday, Peeks."

He looks very pleased with himself, and Patrick can't help but lean over and press a quick kiss to his lips, and to hell with whoever else in the restaurant might see them. They're _married_ , damn it. At least the rest of the world thinks they are, so what could be wrong with Patrick kissing his husband? Nothing at all.

"Thank you, I love it," he says. He's not going to apologise for his love of eye-wateringly expensive, blinged-out jewellery - and Jonny used to tease him about it and about his enormous 88 pendant, but clearly Jonny's now been sucked into embracing Patrick's love of all things shiny and expensive in life.

"I had it made by Bvlgari, to match our - your ring. Thought you could wear it next to your 88 one, if you want to," Jonny adds.

"Obviously I want to," Patrick says. "Help me put it on now." 

Jonny smiles at him, and then Patrick turns his back to Jonny so Jonny can unclasp his necklace and slide the new pendant on. It clinks softly against his 88, and when Jonny clasps it back on him, Patrick looks down at it lying against his chest.

The sight of twin babies next to his number is - it's quite something. Patrick thinks about his babies in his jersey, wearing his number, and tries to hold back the wave of emotion sweeping over him.

"It's an awesome present," he finally says, lifting his eyes to Jonny. "You're not all that bad after all, I guess."

"And this pendant looks a lot classier and better than that diamond monstrosity, for sure," Jonny says, dry as hell.

"You just spoiled the moment," Patrick complains, and Jonny just laughs like the asshole he is. Patrick looks down at the pendant again, and runs a finger over it.

"You think they'll have blue eyes? And dimples?" he asks. He's always thought the babies would look like Jonny when they were born. Dark haired, and dark eyed, and probably very serious babies.

Jonny gazes at him. "I hope so," he says simply, and the look in his eyes, the way he's staring at Patrick - Patrick doesn't even know how to respond to that.

"When will this dinner be over?" he says, and tries to ignore how it's coming out almost as a whine.

Jonny's gaze sharpens. He raises his hand, and their waiter materialises. "Can I get you anything, sir?"

"Just wondering," Jonny says casually, "how much longer does dinner last? Which course is this?"

"This is the ninth course, sir," the waiter says. "The next course is designed to ready your palate for the dessert courses. It should take another forty minutes, in all."

"Thank you," is all Jonny says, but when the waiter leaves he puts his hand on Patrick's thigh again, and this time he leaves Patrick in no doubt that he _knows_ exactly how - affected Patrick is by him.

"Eat up, babe," he says; his voice is dark and low, and Patrick's dick twitches, very close to Jonny's hand. "We need to get home."

\---

Jonny's literally on him the moment the front door shuts behind them, pressing him up against the wall, shoving his thigh between Patrick's legs so it pushes into Patrick's cock, now rapidly going from just half-hard to full hardness. Patrick can't help the little garbled sound that escapes his throat, and he pushes himself against Jonny's thick, muscled thigh, spreading his legs open while Jonny's hands fumble at the waistband of his slacks and yank them down. Thank goodness for maternity slacks and boxers - no buckles, no buttons or belts or zips, just an elastic support band that Jonny can easily pull off him, and - yep, they're both down now, pooling at his ankles.

"Do you know," Jonny says, and his voice is almost a growl, "how crazy you were driving me all night? You look so good, and so - happy, and I couldn't wait to get my hands on you."

He's steering Patrick towards the bedroom as he speaks, shrugging his jacket off at the same time and letting it drop to the floor, undoing the buttons of his shirt one-handed. Patrick tries to tug his sweater up and over his head, but his hands are shaking from anticipation, and Jonny keeps stopping to crowd him up against the nearest wall and kiss him, his mouth hot and hungry. 

"You're happy tonight, right?" Jonny asks as he kicks open the door to the bedroom and pulls Patrick in. He rips his shirt off the rest of the way and throws it onto the floor, and then starts to unbuckle his belt, fumbling with it, his hands urgent and rough. Patrick takes the chance to pull his sweater off, and flings it aside as well.

"I am, I am happy," Patrick says breathlessly "I'm happy all the time. I'm pregnant with _your_ babies, Jonny, and it makes me so happy - "

He hasn't even finished when Jonny groans loudly and kicks his pants off with almost alarming ferocity; Jonny's cock is already hard, the foreskin peeling back from the wet, gleaming head. Jonny grabs his hand and pulls it down to his cock so Patrick can wrap his fingers around it, feel how hot it is to the touch, how his fingers can't curl all the way around its thickness.

"What, is this what me being happy does to you?" Patrick says, trying to crack a joke, but he starts to move his hand anyway without even really thinking about it, his mouth watering. Jonny's cock is magnificent, fat and thick and without the slightest curve. It's almost unfair that a man as physically perfect as Jonny already is should have the most perfect cock in the world as well.

"You being happy," Jonny says, "and you being pregnant with my babies." He cups Patrick's belly as he speaks and dips his head to kiss Patrick again, urgent and hungry.

"Oh, that gets you going, I see," Patrick says when he finally manages to come up for air. His dick is so hard it's almost painful.

Jonny quirks a smile at him. "Like you couldn't tell?" he asks, and the next moment Patrick finds himself lifted off his feet as Jonny sweeps him up and brings him to the bed.

It never gets old, Jonny carrying him and manhandling him like this, like he weighs nothing at all, even when he's heavy with the babies now. When Jonny lays him out in the middle of the bed, he lets his legs fall open so Jonny can arrange himself between his thighs; Jonny's fat cock slides up against the softness of his taint, and Patrick can't help but lift his hips a little, wanting Jonny's cock at his hole, inside him, in the _worst_ way.

Jonny sweeps a hand down the centre of his chest like he's trying to calm Patrick's heart rate down; his palm catches on the pendant as he does it, and Patrick bites his lip so he won't openly plead for Jonny to just fuck him _now_. The urgency thrumming through him is almost stunning in its ferocity - he feels overheated, his skin prickling, and when Jonny draws himself upright between Patrick's legs and leans over to swipe the bottle of lube off the nightstand, Patrick takes the chance to shove him flat to the bed and climb on top of him.

"Whoa," Jonny says, gripping his hips to steady him. But his eyes, when he looks at Patrick, are dark and hungry, and as eager as Patrick feels. "You - what are you - ?"

"I want to ride you," Patrick says, and watches Jonny's mouth fall open. He braces himself with his palms spread on Jonny's abs and rocks his bare ass back against the pillar of Jonny's cock, feeling it press up and between his cheeks. Jonny's staring at him like he's forgotten how to move, his gaze sweeping down Patrick's body to the tight points of his swollen nipples and over the swell of his belly and his cock bobbing against the underside of it, leaving a gleaming spot where it touches his stomach, because he's leaking already even before Jonny's touched him.

"Get me wet," Patrick says. He licks his dry lips and nudges a knee into Jonny's side. "Come _on_ \- open me up."

Jonny blinks; but then he shifts and sits up, moving backwards so he's leaning against the headboard, and pops the bottle of lube open once he's got them both situated to his liking, with Patrick's hands on his shoulders and Patrick's belly pressed against his. Every movement Jonny makes pushes his dick harder against Patrick's ass, and it's on the tip of his tongue to tell Jonny to hurry the fuck up, but Jonny seems to have finally caught on to his need, and Patrick feels Jonny's big hand spread his cheeks, and then the fingers of his other hand, wet with lube, press against his hole.

He lets out a loud shuddering gasp when Jonny pushes two fingers in right away; they go in fairly easily because Jonny's been liberal with the lube, but Patrick's so tight that there's not quite enough give for Jonny to push in further than a couple of inches. Jonny stops to wiggle his fingers a little, stretching Patrick's rim gently over his thick knuckles, and Patrick drops his head to breathe through the sensation of being opened up just that little bit too quick for his body.

"Is this okay?" Jonny asks. He strokes Patrick's bump with his free hand, watching him closely. The way Jonny's sitting up, Patrick's belly is pushed into Jonny's abs, his cock trapped between them. 

"Yes," Patrick says, and just to punctuate how okay he is, he pushes himself backwards onto Jonny's fingers, forcing them deeper into himself. The sting of it makes his eyes water a little, but his cock twitches beneath his belly, like it likes that bite of pain. Huh. That's maybe something Patrick would like to revisit at some point. "Just - quicker - yeah, like that."

Jonny twists his fingers deeper; Patrick's still tight enough that his hole is clinging to Jonny's fingers each time he moves them, but he's opening up further with each push-pull, he can feel it. By the time Jonny's worked his fingers all the way in to the knuckle, Patrick's rolling his hips impatiently on them, begging wordlessly with his body for more. 

He feels Jonny fit a third finger at his hole, feels it pop past his rim; it's a tight fit now, but Patrick has to bite his lip against his impulse to tell Jonny to just - stop and fuck him now, because he knows he needs at least three fingers before he can take Jonny's cock, sometimes four. He doesn't think he has the patience to wait for four, but - 

Jonny brushes his fingertips over Patrick's prostate, and Patrick shudders, clenching down on his fingers. "Oh fuck," he says out loud, breathing hard. "Jonny, I don't - I need you inside me. _Now._ "

Jonny leans forward - it's not easy, because Patrick's bump is in the way, but he manages to press a kiss to Patrick's mouth. "Are you sure?" he asks, because he has to choose this moment to be a fucking boy scout. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't, you won't," Patrick says, rocking back and forth on Jonny's fingers, chasing that electric feeling again. "Please, Jonny - "

"Yeah, okay," Jonny says, soft, and kisses him again before he pulls his fingers out of Patrick, but not without spreading them inside him to stretch him out a little more first. 

Fuckin' boy scout.

Patrick has to lift himself up on his knees and off Jonny's lap so Jonny can slick his cock up with lube, but it's the one time he doesn't mind breaking skin contact with Jonny, because it's a good view, Jonny's fat cock jutting up straight from his thighs and shiny with lube, Jonny's big hand sliding up and down the wet shaft in a way that looks almost too leisurely for Patrick's liking. But finally Jonny tosses the lube bottle aside and closes his hand around the base of his cock, holding it steady.

"Slow," he tells Patrick, and Patrick ignores him to reach behind himself and pull his cheeks open and sink down on Jonny's cock. It doesn't go in at first, not as slippery as it is; it slides over his hole in a maddening tease, even with Jonny holding it, not until Jonny grips his hip with his other hand and stills him and then pushes the head of his cock into him, smooth and easy.

"I said, go slow," Jonny says, and very deliberately rubs his still-wet thumb over Patrick's nipple; Patrick's entire body ripples at the touch, like his nipples are hardwired to his dick. Maybe they are.

"Fuck going slow," Patrick gasps, and pushes down further on Jonny's cock, feeling his hole stretch wide open to accommodate the girth of it. He has to stop halfway down, right before the thickest part of Jonny's dick, just to catch his breath; fuck, Jonny's so big, and yeah, maybe he ought to go slower, but he doesn't _want_ to.

"Baby," Jonny says, soft, and Patrick takes a deep breath and shoves himself down, willing his body to open up. It does.

He feels Jonny's hand, still holding his cock up, bump against his hole, and for a while he just - sits there with his eyes shut, breathing through the stretch, letting his hole get used to the sensation of being widened too much, too fast. Jonny strokes around his pulled-tight rim with his thumb, and it makes Patrick shudder.

"You're so tight," Jonny murmurs. "Maybe too tight. You need to go slower, baby." He keeps his fist on his dick so Patrick can't push himself down further - the jerk - but uses his other hand to touch Patrick everywhere he can reach: the knobs of his spine, his baby bump where it curves out at the sides of his body, his swollen chest and sensitive nipples. Patrick looks down at his body, at Jonny's hand cupped over the curve of his belly, and feels his cock drip a little more; he can hardly see it now under the prominence of his bump.

"I'm fine," Patrick says. Jonny's fist is still pushed against his ass, stopping him from going down any further. "I'm not - Jonny, please, I can take it, I'm fine, I promise - "

He almost sobs in relief when Jonny finally takes his hand away; he does hold on to Patrick's hips to guide him down, keeping him from shoving Jonny's cock the full way in like he so desperately wants to, but this is good enough, Jonny's dick prying him open the last few inches, until his ass is flush against Jonny's thighs and he feels completely, overwhelmingly full of his cock. His brain is still trying to wrap itself around the mindblowing sensation of being crammed full with Jonny's enormous dick when Jonny says, "You're so gorgeous - do you even know how beautiful you are?"

"Buh?" Patrifck says intelligently. His mind can't process anything apart from the way Jonny's pressing against his prostate, sparking heat and urgent need low in the base of his spine. 

He starts to move himself on Jonny's cock; it's more of a grind, really, he's heavier and more ungainly with the babies and the way his bump is pressed against Jonny's abs, and it's just easier for him to roll his hips around the wide, perfect girth of Jonny's cock rather than rise up and down on it. Each time Jonny's dick pushes into his prostate it makes him clench up, and now Jonny's breathing is starting to pick up too. His hands are roaming restlessly over Patrick's body, paying extra attention to his bump and his chest; Patrick's nipples are so sensitive that he can feel his cock twitch and drool each time Jonny caresses his nipples.

"I couldn't take my eyes off you the whole damn night," Jonny says. "The way you looked - and the way you look now on my cock - fuck, you're gorgeous. Look so fucking _good_ full of my babies."

"Oh god," Patrick whimpers. Fuck, he'd never thought he'd have a thing for carrying Jonny's kids, but apparently he does. All he can do is rock his hips harder, his belly pushing against Jonny as he moves, his cock leaking under his bump onto Jonny's hot skin. The sound Jonny's cock makes as Patrick works his wet, clinging hole around it is loud and obscene.

"Do you like it?" Jonny asks. There's a deep, possessive note in Jonny's voice that Patrick's entire body is reacting to with shameless approval. "Do you like being full with my babies?"

"I - " Patrick gasps. He does, but having to say it out loud -

"Say it," Jonny demands. He cups his palm over the small, swollen mound of Patrick's pec, pinches his stiff nipple, and Patrick's whole body feels like Jonny just shot him through with a lightning bolt.

"I do, I _do_ ," Patrick cries out. "Fuck - I love it, Jonny, I'd let you fuck more of your babies into me if I could - "

"Fucking _hell_ ," Jonny says through gritted teeth, and the next thing Patrick knows is Jonny bodily lifting him off his cock, his biceps bulging with the effort. Patrick tightens instinctively, trying to keep Jonny's cock in, and the sensation of it being dragged out of the grip of his greedy, clutching hole is enough to take Patrick right to the precipice of orgasm. But he can't - he _needs_ Jonny's cock in him, why isn't Jonny giving it to him -

Then Jonny's flipping them over so Patrick's on his back; Jonny hooks his legs over his elbows, spreading them wide apart, and drives his cock back inside Patrick with a quick, forceful motion that has Patrick crying out and squirming. His nipples are aching from the pleasure of it, and he can't help but reach up and pluck at them, trying to ease that aching, needy feeling, except between that and Jonny now fucking into him with ferocious, rhythmic precision, he can feel himself hurtling towards the cliff edge.

"I'm going to give it to you," Jonny's saying, "I'll give you everything you want, Peeks. All the babies - "

" _Yes_ ," Patrick sobs. "Come in me, Jonny, please, fill me up, fuck your babies into me - "

Dimly he knows whatever he's babbling doesn't make any sense; he's already pregnant, and he's going to be so fucking _mortified_ after this, but all of that is swept away in the tidal wave of pleasure that's rising up, threatening to consume him whole. He pinches his nipples harder, and Jonny's movements grow more frantic and arrhythmic, and almost before he realises it his orgasm slams into him like a shockwave. 

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _fuck_ ," he hears himself shout, and then he's coming and Jonny stutters to a stop inside him with his cock swelling, and then his mind is wiped blank and there's nothing, nothing at all but Jonny and Jonny's cock and this unending pleasure.

\---

When he blinks his eyes open, the room is dark except for one night lamp, but through the bleariness he can make out Jonny's body pressed against him, a long line of heat plastered from his back down to his ass. Jonny's hand is on his baby bump, stroking in slow, gentle circles.

Patrick shifts, and immediately becomes very aware of the sweet ache in his hole.

"Babe," Jonny says softly. "Are you okay?"

"What happened - why's it so dark?"

"I turned off the lights," Jonny says. "And cleaned you up. You passed out for a few minutes there."

Well, that - that's new. "I didn't pass out," Patrick argues weakly. "I just - drifted off, maybe."

"Uh huh, whatever you want to tell yourself," Jonny says. He sounds a mix of fond and amused and _smug_ , and for some reason that makes Patrick burrow deeper into the circle of his arms, because that's just so Jonny - the Jonny that makes Patrick feel safe, and wanted, even if Jonny's only pity-fucking him.

No. Nope. He pushes the thought out of his head. Jonny just fucked him till he _passed out_ \- he's not going to think about pity fucks right now.

"You want water?" Jonny asks, and Patrick nods. Jonny sits up and leans over him to snag a bottle of water from the nightstand that wasn't there before. It's still cold from the fridge, barely any condensation on it, which means Jonny's only just brought it in here, so he really wasn't out for long.

Jonny helps to lift him into a sitting position, and holds the bottle to his lips while he drinks. It makes Patrick think of feeding a baby, and then _that_ makes him remember all the awkward, embarrassing stuff he'd spouted at Jonny while they were fucking - what was he thinking, for god's sake!

His face burns, and he turns away from the water bottle and away from Jonny. 

"Listen," he says, as Jonny screws the cap back on. "You know all that stuff I said?"

"What stuff?" Jonny says, distracted with the bottle.

"You know. Just now. Whatever I was saying. You know that - I mean, it was just the heat of the moment, right? Like, for you too. Right?"

There's a long, long pause; so long that Patrick turns to look at Jonny. The night lamp is turned down to the lowest setting on its dimmer, and it's behind Jonny, so Jonny's face is in shadow and he can't really see his expression, but - 

"Jonny?"

"Yeah," Jonny says. There's an odd note in his voice, something Patrick can't quite place. Maybe he's embarrassed about the stuff he said too; Patrick wasn't the only one spouting dirty talk about Patrick being pregnant, that's for sure. "Yeah, I get it."

"But - thank you," Patrick says. He leans over and kisses Jonny gratefully, ignoring the twinge in his ass. "Best birthday ever. I mean it."

"Good," Jonny says. He sounds back to normal now. He reaches out and fingers the pendant against Patrick's chest, and then pats his bump again, like he can't help touching it. "Happy birthday, Peeks."

\---

It's probably highly unorthodox, but Patrick calls Dr. Liu's clinic and insists on postponing his 20-week scan for another two weeks until December, because even though the Blackhawks don't have a long road trip yet, their schedule is a mess and Jonny's out of town every other day. He's determined to have Jonny with him when they find out the babies' genders, and even though Jonny tells him to go ahead with the scan if he and his family are eager to know - which they are - Patrick doesn't think it's _right_ to receive such a vital piece of information without the babies' dad around. He still feels a little regret that Jonny missed his first scan.

"That's not something you could have helped," Jonny points out when he finally gets a blissful four whole days in Chicago and they're on the way to the doctor's. He's driving at a slow, sedate 40, which is - so unlike Jonny, who likes to drive one-handed and rev the engine and speed like he owns the roads - that it almost makes Patrick want to laugh, except he knows Jonny's doing this because of the babies, and he's definitely not going to complain about Jonny keeping their kids safe. "I was still in the World Cup, and obviously you needed to get looked at as soon as possible."

"Yeah, but still," Patrick says. "Would have been nice to have you there, I guess."

"Well, I'm here now," Jonny says. He gives Patrick a quick glance. "You ready for this?"

"Uh, _yes_ ," Patrick says. He shifts in his seat and tugs at his seat belt; at 22 weeks, his bump is - to him at least - shockingly prominent now, no longer the small, neat bump it had been just two weeks ago. "I can't wait. The girls are so excited to know what they are."

"Me too," Jonny says, and when Patrick looks over at him, he's smiling. It makes him - happy, really, seeing Jonny's joy in the babies they're going to have. Maybe this co-parenting thing is going to be a breeze - after all, he and Jonny have always worked well together, fitting into each other like a lock and key, whether on the ice or off it.

"You gonna be okay?" Jonny asks suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"When we get there. There will be people at the clinic."

"Oh - yeah. Yeah," Patrick says. Since the cat's out of the bag, he didn't bother setting up an after-hours appointment this time; he and Jonny will be walking into an OB-GYN's office in the middle of the day, with people waiting around, staring at them, staring at his baby bump, at him in his maternity clothes. They're expensive, well-tailored maternity wear, but _still_. 

It's weird, but even more than the privacy factor, he's grown - possessive, there's no other word for it - of his bump in recent weeks; he likes touching it, looking at it, wiggling his toes to see if he can still see them past the bump, and he likes it when Jonny cups it and pats it sometimes, but he _hates_ the thought of other people, people he doesn't know, looking at it or commenting on it. That ship's sailed now, obviously, he's too far along to hide it anymore and it's been a big topic of conversation in Chicago papers and social media for weeks, but it doesn't mean he has to like people's eyes on his bump. He's heard too many horror stories of strangers just walking up to pregnant people and touching their bellies, like they have any right to, and the thought of someone doing that to him enrages him so much that he'd probably punch out anyone who tried, and then he'd be in a world of trouble with the Blackhawks.

"I'll be fine." As long as no one tries to touch his belly, or talk to him about it.

"'I've got your back," Jonny says. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Patrick says. He _does_ know. He doesn't say it out loud, but he remembers how he'd thought he'd have the babies on his own and bring them up himself without Jonny's input, and now - well, he can't imagine doing this alone without Jonny.

Nevertheless, when they get there, he has to take a deep breath and mentally brace himself before they enter the clinic; he rubs his thumb over his wedding ring, feeling the smooth solid metal, warmed by his skin. It's become a habit now, as much as stroking his bump is, except he's most definitely not going to let people in public see him touching his bump. 

Jonny puts a hand on the small of his back as they walk in, just a gentle reassuring touch, and Patrick keeps his eyes pointed straight ahead as they register at the counter for their appointment, but he's grateful to see that there's only one other couple here right now, so it's not like the place is full of curious, gossipy people. 

Once Patrick's registered, they find seats in the corner of the reception area, directly across the room from the other waiting couple. The lady is much further along than Patrick is, possibly fairly close to her due date, and Patrick catches himself staring before he realises he's doing exactly what he doesn't want someone to do to him, and looks away, feeling a little flustered and more than a little annoyed with himself. But when he glances back, the woman is looking at him, and when they make eye contact, she gives him a tiny smile. It's not a - it doesn't feel rude or invasive, more rueful, like _hey, we're all in the same boat, huh?_ He finds it in himself to return a small smile, and then looks away again, his thumb restlessly rubbing against his ring.

"Mr. and Mrs. Martinez?" the receptionist calls, and the couple opposite them get up, the heavily pregnant lady with some awkward difficulty even with her husband helping her up. She gives Patrick another smile, and then they go into the consultation room, where Patrick catches a glimpse of Dr. Liu as the door opens, before it shuts again.

It's a forty minute wait before the couple come back out, but they're beaming, and it somehow makes Patrick feel a little less nervy about what's going to happen in there. He's excited every time he has to have a scan, but at the same time there's always that tiny niggling worry at the back of his mind, about whether the babies are fine, if they're developing okay.

He wonders if Jonny has those thoughts.

The man goes to the receptionist, but the woman comes up to Patrick. She's holding her bump, and stops a few steps away, like she doesn't want to come into his space. Beside Patrick, Jonny looks up at her warily, and Patrick can feel it when Jonny stiffens next to him - as if a pregnant woman could be a threat, what the hell, but - he puts his arm over his belly too. Just in case she wants to touch it, even if it doesn't look like she will.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," the woman says, "but I just wanted to tell you that my husband and I are huge Blackhawks fans, and I'm having twins, and - I read online that you were too, so. I just thought that was pretty cool."

Patrick raises his eyes to her, startled, and at the soft, happy, warm smile on her face, he feels himself relax. This is all it is, he tells himself. Just two people, expecting twins, and happy about it.

It feels - really nice, actually.

"Oh yeah?" he says, smiling back up at her; next to him, Jonny physically relaxes, his body going subtly slack against Patrick's. "That's amazing. Congratulations."

"Thank you - and same to you too," she says. "I'm having a boy and a girl. Do you know - sorry, no, I shouldn't ask, I didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's okay," Patrick says. He bites his lip and thinks for a second, and then adds, "I don't know yet, actually. I'm here to find out today."

"That's so exciting," she says, glowing. 

"Yeah, it is," Patrick answers honestly. "Are your babies coming soon? You must be pretty excited too."

"We are - but no, they won't be here for a while more, hopefully, I'm only at 28 weeks now."

Patrick blinks. Holy crap. He'd thought she was about to pop any time soon - her bump looks enormous, at least to him.

She just laughs. "Yeah, I know. That's what you get with twin pregnancies."

Patrick's still trying to digest this - holy shit, is _this_ how he'll look in a few short weeks? Ready to pop even though he'll have another eight to ten weeks to go? He can't imagine what he'll look like towards the end. Like Veruca Salt, probably, in that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory movie he'd watched years ago. Nothing but belly, and a few stubby little stumps sticking out of the giant belly for his head and limbs.

"Come on, Mel," the woman's husband says, coming up next to her. He nods at Jonny and Patrick. "Congratulations to you both. Fun time, isn't it?"

"It - hasn't been too bad," Patrick says faintly.

"Not too bad at all," Jonny says, easy. He sounds chilled out, at least, which kind of helps to settle Patrick a little. "Congrats to you too. Hope you guys have a good day, and good luck the rest of the way, eh?"

"Thank you," the woman says. "Good luck, you two."

"We'll try," Jonny says.

"All the best," Patrick says, and the woman and her partner nod and smile back, and then he's steering her gently out of the clinic. 

"They were nice," he says to Jonny.

"Yep," Jonny says. "That's why I didn't say or do anything."

"You can't do anything to a pregnant woman."

"I wouldn't have, but I'd definitely have yelled at her if she'd done anything to you."

"She was only at 28 weeks," Patrick says. "Oh my god, Jonny, I literally thought she was near her due date. Did you see?"

"That's okay," Jonny says, looking a little confused. "She wasn't offended - you didn't say anything bad, I don't think? I only remember you asking her if her babies were due soon."

"No, I mean - what if I look like that, at 28 weeks? Just - ready to pop? And then what happens when I'm at 32 weeks, or 36 weeks? I'm going to be enormous. I'm going to look like - a hot air balloon, maybe. Ready to burst."

"I - oh," Jonny says, understanding dawning on his face. He reaches out and rubs his hand down Patrick's spine, soothing and slow. "You'll be fine, babe. Listen, we're going to see Dr. Liu right now, you can ask her all the questions you want. But you're going to be perfectly fine, and I'm going to be right there with you."

"What if I have - I don't know, backaches and my feet hurt from how huge I am?" Patrick asks, grasping at the first thing he can think about happening to him when he's enormous and ungainly and waiting for the kids to come. "What if I can't _walk_."

Jonny keeps up his gentle stroking, his big hand moving up and down Patrick's back, like he's gentling a child. "Then I'll bring you food in bed and give you foot rubs and back rubs. I'll even buy that $400 cream Jessica linked you to."

That gives Patrick pause for thought. He'd shown the cream to Jonny when Jess had first sent the site link to him - it's some organic, free-trade, cruelty-free, shea butter-based cream with essential oils and crushed rose quartz and herbs and god knows what else, that promises to relieve pregnancy aches, smooth out stretch marks, ease dry skin, and help with a whole host of other pregnancy complaints, except that it's $400 for a laughably small jar. Even the high-maintenance, luxury-loving part of him had recoiled a little at that.

"Do you _really_ need a cream with crushed rose quartz? Is that even going to be in any way useful?" Jonny had asked, sounding a bit doubtful, and Patrick had agreed with him for once and forgotten about it.

"Really?" he says. 

"I'll do all of that right now, if you want me to," Jonny says, and leans forward to brush his lips over Patrick's cheek. "No need to wait till you're a beach ball."

"You're an asshole," Patrick says, but he laughs, and Jonny's sweet almost-kiss has the effect of distracting him sufficiently from nightmarish thoughts about his future as a blown-up Veruca Salt.

"Mr. Kane, Mr. Toews?" the receptionist calls. "Dr. Liu will see you now."

"Yes," Patrick says, and gets to his feet without much difficulty at all, or needing Jonny's help. At least he still has this, for now.

\---

"You guys ready?" Dr. Liu asks, smiling.

"So, so ready," Patrick assures her. He's sitting up on the scanning couch with his shirt hiked up, Dr. Liu tapping away at the ultrasound machine. Jonny's next to him, eyes fixed on the screen, even though the scan hasn't started yet and there's nothing there. He's already had his weight taken, his blood taken, Dr. Liu has asked him a bunch of questions, and now he's just - waiting to see his babies again, and see how much they've grown.

The machine hums, Dr. Liu places the wand on his belly, and just like before, it takes a while for the white blobs onscreen to come into focus, but once they do - Patrick can't stifle the little gasp that falls out.

"There they are," Dr. Liu says.

"They're - so big," Patrick blurts out. He hadn't been expecting this - a month ago they were just little oval shaped blobs with big heads and spindly arms and what looked like tails - but now they're actually fully-formed babies. They have proper arms, and visible legs, and they're clearly bigger than they were from the previous scan. It's _amazing_ to see.

"Oh yeah, they're growing well," Dr. Liu says, typing into the computer at the machine one-handed. "They're about the size of artichokes now, I'd say. They look good, they're developing very nicely. Well done."

Patrick tries to remember how big artichokes are - he doesn't like them, so he's never bought one. Maybe he'll make Jonny stop at Whole Foods after this, before they get home, just so he can look at an artichoke and see how big his babies are now inside him.

"They're fine, right?" Jonny asks.

"Perfectly fine," Dr. Liu says. "Their measurements, growth rate, heart rate - it all looks very, very good to me. They are a little bigger than I'd expect for twins, actually."

Next to him, Jonny exhales, like he's been holding his breath for a long, long time. Patrick knows how that feels.

"Have you felt them kick yet?" Dr. Liu asks, smiling over at Patrick.

And - what. "I - no?" Patrick says. He looks at the screen. "Am I supposed to?" Shit, _is_ he supposed to? What if they haven't been moving or kicking, and something's wrong, and he didn't know -

"Well, they're really active now," Dr. Liu says. She points at the screen. "Look at them, they flip and move and roll around quite a bit. This is about the time you'll start feeling some movement, if not actual kicking yet."

"I don't - I'm not sure if I have," Patrick says. 

"Have you felt anything like gas lately? Just something that feels maybe like a rumbling in your stomach, or bubbles?"

"Oh - oh god, yeah," Patrick says, thinking hard. "The last week or so - I kept thinking I'd eaten something wrong, maybe, because I kept having this funny feeling, like there were air bubbles in my stomach popping."

"Yeah, that's the babies moving, pushing against your belly," Dr. Liu says with a grin. Patrick throws Jonny a shocked look, and Jonny's looking right back, his eyes wide and amazed.

"I - oh god, okay," Patrick manages. Wow. His babies are moving, rolling around inside him. He wishes he could feel that funny sensation right now, because now he knows it for what it is. And he'd been thinking it was a stomach upset, for fuck's sake, instead of enjoying that his babies are moving, and kicking. "I'll - keep a lookout for that next time."

"Don't worry," she assures him. "As they grow, their movements and kicks get stronger. Pretty soon, you'll feel it as more than just air bubbles - and trust me, you'll know it for sure when they kick." She tilts the wand a little more, moves it towards the side of Patrick's belly. "Also - do you guys want to know their genders today? We can keep it a surprise if you want, but it looks to me like your babies are being fairly cooperative right now, position-wise." 

Patrick looks over at Jonny; Jonny looks back at him, and in unison, they say "yes" emphatically. 

"We've been really excited to find out, to be honest," Patrick says. He reaches out, almost automatically, and grabs Jonny's hand; Jonny interlaces their fingers, squeezing tight. Fuck, he's so filled with anticipation that he's almost shaking. 

"Great," Dr. Liu says. "Oh, this first one is easy." She taps the screen, at the baby closer to the front. "He's a boy. Which means, most likely, your other baby is a boy too, since they're probably identical, but I'll take a quick look to be sure."

Boys. They have twin baby boys.

Jonny's hand tightens so hard on his that it almost hurts, but Patrick's gripping back just as hard. "Boys," he says, feeling a stupid, warm grin spread over his face. "Jonny - we've got two boys."

"Yeah," Jonny says; and that's all he says, like he physically can't get any more words out. His face is lit up, and it makes Patrick feel - strangely soft, when he sees it. Jonny's joy and delight is palpable, and it makes him so glad that he waited to do the scan, waited till Jonny could share in this.

Dr. Liu's wiggling the wand around on his belly, tilting and moving it this way and that, and just as Patrick thinks she might say she can't see anything for the other baby, she says, "Oh, there you go - the first baby's arm was in the way, but he's moved a little now - and yep, you do have two boys. Congratulations!"

Two boys. Patrick's mind is already spinning. He thinks of having two babies, maybe with Jonny's dark hair and dark eyes, maybe with round blue eyes like his pendant. Two baby boys wearing his and Jonny's jerseys, taking their first wobbly steps on ice. He thinks of Jonny's father flooding their backyard when Jonny was a kid, building a backyard rink for Jonny and David, and thinks of Jonny leading two tiny boys by the hand onto the ice.

"This is - amazing," he breathes. He's still holding Jonny's hand, and it's hot against his fingers and palm.

Jonny exhales again, a loud shaky breath. "Yeah," he agrees. "Just amazing."

Patrick turns to look at Jonny; their eyes lock, and for a moment there's nothing else in the world except the both of them, staring at each other, completely and utterly delighted and excited and full to the brim with this happiness.

\---

He's disappointed when Dr. Liu puts the wand away, signalling the end of the scan; her assistant hands him tissues to clean the gel off his belly, and when he's cleaned and seated in front of her desk again with Jonny, she turns her desk calendar towards him. 

Patrick likes that calendar; it's plain and sensible, just black dates against a white background, no cheesy pictures of dogs or smiling babies or flowers, and each time he's there she uses it to show him the timelines and milestones of his pregnancy. He's at the point where he associates that plain calendar with good things now: his babies' growth, the month when his first trimester morning sickness stopped, the week when Dr. Liu told him his baby was the same weight as a Big Mac.

"So," Dr. Liu says briskly, flipping the calendar ahead to 2017, "we talked about your due date on March 26 - that's your 38th week, and for male carriers that's when it's generally considered safe to deliver. But given the higher risks of complications and lung abnormalities for babies born to carriers, we usually like to deliver a week or two later, just to be safe. So that would be during the first or second week of April."

She flips the calendar again, and taps the aforementioned two weeks. "For you - I'd recommend sometime in the first week of April, just because you're carrying twins, and it'll be tougher for you if they get too big. So if you'd like, you can decide on a date to schedule your C-section now - do you want to, or do you need some time to think about it?"

Jonny's already got his phone out, thumbing through it - Patrick knows right away that he's looking at the Blackhawks schedule. He has it memorized, of course; he doesn't _need_ to this season, but old habits are hard to break, and his brain tends to retain hockey information without him making a conscious effort.

He thinks about it; the season ends April 8, and by that time the Blackhawks should know if they've clinched a playoffs spot or not, which means Jonny _could_ be scratched and rested for the last couple of games, maybe. The last three games are all away games, which sucks schedule-wise, but - if the Blackhawks clinch early, and if they choose April 8, Jonny could skip that last game against LA and come home right away after the Anaheim game on April 6.

He looks over at Jonny; Jonny looks back at him.

"I was thinking - " Patrick begins.

"April 8?" Jonny says, and Patrick feels a grin form on his lips.

"Yeah," he replies. His cheeks hurt from how wide he's smiling. "That's exactly what I was thinking."

Dr. Liu smiles at them both, and types something into her desktop computer. "As you already know, my practice is affiliated with Northwestern Prentice - your C-section will be arranged there, unless you have a specific hospital that you prefer."

"Prentice is fine," Patrick says, and Jonny nods. Jonny's already done all the research when they first started going to Dr. Liu, and Patrick's definitely fine with the top-rated maternity hospital in Chicago.

"Great," Dr. Liu says. "This will be easy then - we'll arrange everything, and my assistant will give you a call once the hospital has confirmed the C-section date, and then if all goes well, all you need to do is turn up at Prentice on April 8 at 6 AM, and I'll be there."

"Woah," Patrick says. "That's really early."

"Standard procedure for planned C-sections," Dr. Liu says, smiling, and starts typing again, brisk and quick.

Jonny's eyes find his; he looks - happy, excited even, and Patrick can't stop himself from reaching over and grabbing Jonny's hand. Jonny glances down at their hands, and laces his fingers through Patrick's, warm and reassuring.

\---

Patrick texts his chat group with his sisters once they're in the car on the way home. He hasn't stopped smiling, and he thinks Jonny hasn't either. Maybe they never will.

His phone blows up almost immediately, as he expects, the excited texts in all caps coming in nonstop. But in between Erica yelling at him about the cutest powder-blue Baby Gucci onesies she spotted online and Jackie throwing a plethora of random boys' names at him, he sends a private text to his mom to let her know. Then he puts his phone away, because he's not sure what she'll say about his dad, and he's not sure he wants to hear it, at least not at this time when he doesn't want to feel anything but happy.

"Hey," he says out loud to Jonny. "Can we stop by Whole Foods?"

"Sure," Jonny says agreeably. "You need something? If you're tired I can drop you home and head to Whole Foods on my own to get what you want."

"No, I just want to check something out."

"Let me guess," Jonny says, as he bypasses their usual turnoff to Patrick's condo and keeps heading straight, towards the building where the Whole Foods is. "You want to look at an artichoke."

Patrick swings around to stare at him. "How the hell did you know that?"

Jonny just laughs. "I saw your face at the clinic when Dr. Liu said they were the size of artichokes. You were trying to figure out how big they'd be."

Dammit. Patrick has no idea how Jonny reads his thoughts on his face every single time. He's been doing it since they were rookies. "Okay, fine, yeah, but - no judgment, okay. I'm just curious."

"Why would I judge you for that?" Jonny asks, turning into the parking garage. "I'd judge you if you were like, I don't know, doing dumb shit and endangering yourself. Not for this."

"I don't do dumb shit," Patrick proclaims.

"Remember yesterday morning when you were looking for your phone for twenty minutes and went digging all over the condo, when you were holding it in your hand the whole time?"

"I have pregnancy brain, that doesn't count."

They're still bickering gently as they park the car and go into the Whole Foods; in a way, it's nice, Patrick thinks. It feels normal, like they're still living in the days when they were just rookies trying to save a franchise and all they did was push each other's buttons until they fell into bed together, like all of this - the babies, the marriage - never happened and they're being their usual chirping, fuckbuddy selves. Then he gives himself a little mental shake, because - he'd never wish that the babies didn't happen. That's the one thing he doesn't regret in all of this.

Jonny leads the way to the vegetable section, where they stroll down the aisle until Jonny stops. "There," he says, pointing, and Patrick follows his finger to a shelf of bright green artichokes. 

They look gross to him, like some kind of weird, stunted, mutated succulent - and taste gross too - but he picks one up and holds it up in his hand. It's actually bigger than he thought it would be - bigger than his fist, a little larger even than his spread open hand - and he can't help but marvel at the thought that, holy shit, there are two of these in his belly. His babies are this big right now. 

Jonny's picked up two artichokes, hefting them in his big palms. "Wow," he says, looking at them, and then he puts them right up against Patrick's bump and laughs. "Look at that."

Patrick looks down at the two artichokes Jonny's pressing up against his belly, and tries to imagine how they're fitting inside his bump, which is big, yeah, but doesn't look quite big enough to fit two of these. He puts the artichoke he's holding on top of Jonny's two, and says jokingly, "Imagine if I was having triplets."

Jonny starts laughing again, and after a moment, Patrick joins in. It's ridiculous how happy he is, standing in the middle of a Whole Foods, holding artichokes to his stomach and doubling over with laughter; but maybe having Jonny as the father of his children, being married to Jonny - maybe that's another thing he doesn't regret after all.

\---

When they get home, the first thing Patrick does is change out of his clothes into a loose tank top and maternity shorts with a broad waistband that sits just below his bump and holds it to give it some support. He wanders into the kitchen where Jonny's making himself a protein smoothie, and hops up onto one of the bar stools at the island. It might be a good idea to change these chairs, he muses. If that woman he met at the clinic was anything to go by, he won't be able to climb up on these stools pretty soon.

"You know," he says out loud to Jonny, tapping his finger against his lower lip, "I kind of thought one or both of them might be girls. I was a little surprised they're both boys."

"Oh yeah?" Jonny asks. He's still got a huge grin on his face as he moves around the kitchen. "Why'd you think that?"

"I don't know," Patrick says, shrugging. "I maybe thought of it like - I have so many sisters! So maybe the babies would be girls? I don't even know."

Jonny laughs. "Where did _that_ come from? You know it doesn't work that way, right?"

"I guess," Patrick says, feeling a grin spread on his own face. He can't help how happy he is, how everything's made even better by Jonny's own overt delight. "It was just a weird thought my brain came up with, I don't know why."

Jonny comes over and slides a bowl of grapes along with a bottle of maple syrup in front of him. Patrick hadn't even known they had grapes - did Jonny buy these for him recently? But he grabs the bowl with both hands, because - yeah, grapes are, right this moment, exactly what he and his baby boys want. 

"Were you wanting to have girls?" Jonny asks. "Because you grew up with sisters?"

And - huh. That's actually not something that's ever occurred to Patrick. He mulls it over now, turning it over in his mind slowly, popping a grape in his mouth. It's chilled from the fridge and deliciously sweet, and he reminds himself to thank Jonny for getting them.

"I mean, I never really thought about it," he says. "We had so much going on the last couple of months - ever since we found out - and it just never really came up in my mind. But as long as the babies are healthy, then that's all that matters, right?"

He looks up at Jonny and generously holds out a grape towards him. "What were you hoping for? Boys or girls? One of each?"

Jonny leans over the table and bites the grape right out of his fingers; his lips close for one brief moment over his fingertips, but then he straightens up, chewing slowly, looking at Patrick. He _looks_ at Patrick for so long that Patrick starts wondering if something was wrong with the grape; but then Jonny says, "It didn't matter to me either."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jonny says. He's still gazing at Patrick, in that intense way he has that can sometimes be discomfiting, but now just makes Patrick feel - warm, and a little breathless. "Because they're going to be perfect, no matter what."

Oh, _now_ Patrick's really feeling like he can't quite breathe.

"You're such a sap," he manages. Fuck. Jonny thinks their babies are going to be perfect. Of course they are, he thinks. There's no way Jonny's babies wouldn't be, not when their father is - everything that he is.

"Takes one to know one," Jonny says, which is the lamest comeback ever, but Patrick's feeling too warm and pleased to really care.

If only there was a way to bottle this joy he's feeling so that he'll always be able to remember it; or at least to catalog all of these experiences and moments during his pregnancy somehow so he can keep reliving these moments over and over. He looks at Jonny's face and he remembers how delighted Jonny always gets during his scans and how he keeps a copy of each sonogram tucked into his wallet and -

Maybe there's a way he _can_ do that after all.


	7. part seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a million hearts and thank yous to heartstrings and trademarkgiggle, who spend so much time cleaning up this fic and beating it into submission and kicking the britishisms out of it and in general being the people who make it fit for posting! ilu both <3
> 
> let's hope I can go back to a more regular posting schedule after this, my work has been awful lately but things should settle down around mid november and give me more time to write! I still aim to finish this fic by the end of this year and i'm hopeful that can happen! thank you to everyone who has been patiently waiting for updates, i'm really grateful for the support!

December's a good month for Patrick; he always likes December and the holidays anyway, but when he was playing hockey he never really had the chance to enjoy Christmas like he wants. He feels this very acutely for Jonny, because the Blackhawks have a game on the 23rd and another the day after Christmas, but at least they're playing at home all week and Jonny doesn't need to go out of Chicago.

The plans for the nursery are coming along nicely as they enter the second week of December, and his - 24th week of pregnancy, by his count; he's selected the colour scheme, the carpeting, and they've decided to have a mural painted on one wall, featuring a woodland scene to match the mint green walls. He's down to picking the furnishings and baby furniture, and the array of choices the interior design company presents to him is - dizzying, but he makes sure he does his research on each item he needs to get, checks out its reviews and safety ratings online. 

The idea he'd had after his last scan, for cataloguing the milestones of his pregnancy, has materialized into a baby scrapbook; he'd bought a gorgeous hand-bound one off Etsy, with creamy card stock for the pages so glue and ink won't bleed through, and he keeps it in the very bottom of a drawer in his closet, where he knows Jonny won't look. He'd started putting his sonogram printouts into it and writing the dates under them, and then other pictures just for memory's sake: his wedding ring on his hand, the baby names book on Jonny's nightstand, a photo of the half-done nursery.

He'd called Andree to ask her for some baby pictures of Jonny just for shits and giggles; he'd thought it would be funny to put baby photos of both Jonny and himself into the scrapbook and fill it up a bit, but when he told Andree what it was for, she'd said, "Oh, is that going to be your Christmas gift for Jonathan?", sounding absolutely _delighted_ about it, and - the more Patrick had thought about it, the better it had sounded, because really, what other kind of gift can you get your multimillionaire fake husband that he doesn't already have?

He also starts his first prenatal yoga class; the class is one-on-one, which makes him feel a lot better about privacy and all that jazz, and his instructor is a slender young woman named Kim who makes Patrick feel very awkward at first about how big and ungainly he is, but she's so patient and encouraging that he finds himself easily able to handle the poses. His athleticism helps, obviously, although it's not like it's _easy_ doing yoga with a growing beach ball in your middle; but it's fun and relaxing, and he likes the feeling of the little gas bubbles popping in his belly as he rolls, knowing his babies are moving along with him.

Now that he knows it when the babies are moving, he looks forward to it each time, and Dr. Liu was right, they are pretty active at all times. It's hilarious how sulky Jonny gets because he can't feel it; each time the funny bubbling starts in his belly, Patrick has Jonny put his hand on the bump if he's around, and Jonny can never feel it. 

"The babies just aren't kicking hard enough yet, I guess," Patrick says after the thirtieth time Jonny hurries over to cup his bump, right over the spot where he can feel the pressure of a tiny fist or foot against his insides, and sees Jonny's face fall.

"Kick harder, babies," Jonny says to his bump. What a dork.

"It'll hurt if they kick hard."

"They need strong legs for hockey," Jonny argues.

"Yeah, well, not while they're in my stomach," Patrick says, but it makes him laugh seeing Jonny's sulky, offended face. And - "Ooh, one of them just moved again, I felt that - did you?"

Jonny still has his hands on Patrick's belly, and he starts moving them over his bump frantically, feeling for some movement or pressure. His hands are very big and very warm, the skin of his palms callused, and Patrick really likes the feel of them on his own bare skin; but right now it's just funny to watch Jonny crouched in front of him on the couch, frowning and rubbing his belly like it's a lamp and Jonny wants the genie out.

Jonny finally gives up and throws his hands up. "Kick harder," he says to Patrick's bump again before stalking off to the nursery, where he's presumably going to stew and inspect the work that's already been done on it, and probably pick at all kinds of minor details that Patrick will have to smooth over later with their interior designer and contractor; but for now all Patrick does is double over as far as his bump will allow him, and giggle.

\---

The babies kick - actually _kick_ hard, and for real - later that same week, when Patrick's at the UC and lazing in the players' lounge with a heaping plate of pasta in front of him, watching the team play Colorado. The Blackhawks have been doing pretty well, actually, despite all the pundits who predicted they'd limp through the season without Patrick, and Bowman had picked up a dynamite signing from the Czech Republic, a twenty-two year old winger who's already got fourteen goals and is a lock for a Calder nomination. The score is tied at 2-2 late in the third when Jonny crushes Landeskog into the glass from behind and gets slapped with a boarding penalty.

"Jonny, for fuck's sake," Patrick says out loud, thumping his fist on the table in frustration. Then he freezes, because - there's a sudden, sharp pain in his abdomen, like something's just shoved a fist into his ribcage.

What the hell? He puts a hand on the top curve of his bump, where he'd felt the pain, and then it happens _again_ in the same spot, and this time - this time he can actually feel a slight push against his palm as it happens.

Holy shit, one of his babies is kicking. Not just moving around, but actually kicking or punching him, by the feel of it.

"Oh my god," he says out loud.

"You okay, Kaner?" Arty asks from beside him, where he's seated with his own food; he's out for a couple of games with a pulled calf muscle.

"Yeah, I just - I think my babies just kicked," he says. "For the first time. Or at least the first time I'm feeling it. Holy shit."

"Whoa," Arty says, his eyes widening. "Shit, Kaner. That's super cute. Congratulations, the first time is always the best."

"Not that cute when it feels like they're punching you from the inside," Patrick says. 

Arty laughs. "My wife used to say the same thing. Is it okay if I feel?"

"Sure," Patrick says without hesitation, and points to his belly. "Right here." 

Teammates are on his approved list of 'people who can touch the bump' - especially someone like Arty, who has two kids of his own. Seabs has taken to giving it a pat every time Patrick comes to the UC for a game, right before he goes out for warmups, like he's working it into part of his superstitious pregame ritual. The Blackhawks aren't doing too badly - they're sitting in the first wildcard spot in the Western Conference with two games in hand - so it must be working, Patrick thinks to himself, and stifles a laugh as Arty leans over and puts his hand gingerly on where Patrick's hand had been a moment again. 

Arty frowns a little. "I don't feel anything now."

"Maybe they've stopped," Patrick says. He glances up at the TV, where Jonny's just burst out of the penalty box, and right away he cross-checks Tyson Barrie, who nearly falls over. The referee blows his whistle, the crowd boos, Jonny's sent back to the box spitting mad, and Patrick swears again.

"What the fuck is Jonny doing?" he asks, and at the same moment, one of the babies kicks him again. "Ow - did you feel that?"

"Oh, _wow_ ," Arty says. He looks up at Patrick with a smile and leans back, taking his hand away; Patrick appreciates that his teammates understand that his permission for them to touch doesn't translate into permission for them to linger, because it'd probably make him incredibly uncomfortable to have a person who's not Jonny touch his bump for too long. "Yeah, I feel that. That kid is going to be a strong one. He kicks strong."

"The miracle of life," Patrick says dryly. "Fists and feet beating you up all the time."

Arty laughs, and Patrick looks at the TV again, where the camera's showing Jonny seated in the box. His face is red and he's shiny with sweat and he's still mouthing off at the referee, and god, he's so ridiculous but also so _hot_. The baby kicks _again_ , and Patrick puts his hand over the spot, as if he can calm his babies down that way. "I know," he murmurs. "Your dad's an idiot."

He looks back up at the TV and smiles.

\---

"What's going on?" Patrick hears Jonny say loudly as he comes last into the locker room after the game. He probably stayed behind to give the referees an earful about their crappy officiating.

"Arty said the babies were kicking," Shawzy says.

"Arty - what? How would he know?" Jonny demands. Patrick wonders what he's seeing: a knot of teammates, still in their gear, surrounding Patrick in front of Jonny's stall, a couple of them carefully patting his bump. He bites back a grin, because he can guess how Jonny's going to react next.

"I felt earlier," Arty says with a casual shrug. "Kaner said they were kicking, and I got to feel it. And we're all trying to see if they're going to kick again."

"You - felt them kick," Jonny says, and right on cue, his face turns dark and glowering. He drops his stick and gloves on the floor - literally just drops them where he's standing - and stomps over in his skates to Patrick, shouldering everyone out of the way as he goes.

"Move," he says, and Shawzy, bless him, swiftly moves away as Jonny comes right up to Patrick and puts his hands on his belly, spreading his fingers out wide.

He's very possessive, Patrick thinks. And - well, he doesn't mind it.

Jonny looks down at him. "Are they kicking now?" he asks.

"Nope," Patrick says. He pats Jonny's hands. "You'll have to wait, babe."

As he says it, he realises - it's the first time he's used an endearment on Jonny, and most certainly the first time he's said anything like that in public, and in front of their teammates too. He feels heat rush to his cheeks, but then he remembers: they're married. The team thinks they're married for real. He thumbs at his wedding ring again to ground himself, and takes a deep breath. Jonny's his husband. It's perfectly fine to use endearments with his husband.

Jonny's frowning deeply, but at Patrick's words, he blinks, and his forehead seems to smooth out magically, the glower disappearing. He just seems to - there's no other word for it - _soften_ , and he keeps his hands on Patrick's belly when he bends low to peck him on the forehead.

"They need to kick for me," Jonny says, but there's actually a tinge of a smile on his face this time and his voice is soft. "Come on, kiddos."

"You're ridiculous," Patrick says, but he finds himself hoping they'll kick right now, just for Jonny, because he can see how eager Jonny is to feel them, how much he's looking forward to this.

There's no reaction from inside his belly; clearly, the babies are going to be as stubborn as their father. 

Jonny gets pulled away for media a minute later, and Patrick heads back to the players' lounge so he can be kept out of sight of the media, and the moment he's out of the locker room the babies start kicking. Damn it.

"You guys are really gonna draw this out for your father, huh?" he says softly, patting his belly, and gets another answering kick in return.

\---

When Patrick wakes up the next morning, Jonny's not around, but there's a text on Patrick's phone from him informing Patrick that he's gone out for a jog and to buy breakfast. By the time Patrick's brushed his teeth and finally put on shorts, Jonny's back with omelettes and corned beef hash from their favourite brunch restaurant.

Patrick settles himself at the dining table while Jonny gets the cutlery out and plates the food. One of the perks of pregnancy is that he doesn't need to do anything for himself, because Jonny makes sure Patrick doesn't have to lift a finger. It borders on the ridiculous, really, because it's not like Patrick can't carry a plate of food, but he enjoys being waited on hand and foot, and hey, if Jonny wants to do it for him, who is Patrick to deny him?

They're settled at the table finally, Patrick ploughing into the corned beef hash with enthusiasm, when he realises that he's missing ketchup. He pushes his chair back and stands, and Jonny looks at him. "Where are you going?"

"I need ketchup," Patrick says, heading into the kitchen; he hears the scrape of Jonny's chair as he stands up as well and hurries after him.

"I'll get it," Jonny says. 

"Don't be dumb, I already got up anyway," he says. He opens the kitchen cabinet where all the condiments are kept, and - fuck, the ketchup is on the top shelf. Of course it is.

"Why'd you put it at the top?" he complains as Jonny comes up behind him. There's no way he can reach it now, even on tiptoes, not with his bump in the way and pressing against the counter.

Jonny curves an arm around him from behind, his palm spread on his bump, and reaches up effortlessly with the other arm to get the ketchup bottle. Fucker doesn't even need to tiptoe. "I told you I'd get it for you," Jonny says, and presses a kiss on the back of his head, into his messy curls.

Patrick's heart skips a beat, and one of the babies kicks at the same time.

"Oh," he says, startled, as Jonny says in the same breath, "Oh fuck."

"Did you - ?" Patrick asks. He twists around in Jonny's hold so they're face to face; Jonny doesn't take his hand off his belly the whole time. 

"I did," Jonny says, and the smile that's spreading over his face lights him right up, so bright that Patrick has to blink. It's almost like looking right into the sun. "I felt that. They kicked - Patrick, I felt it."

"Yay," Patrick says laughingly, and is surprised by Jonny leaning in and kissing him full on the mouth, slow and tender.

"That is the most amazing thing I have ever - " Jonny says against his lips, and breaks off when they kick again, right up where his palm is. "Fuck. That's just - it's _amazing_."

"Yeah," Patrick says. Jonny pulls back, the delight on his face clear as day, and Patrick just - feels so, so glad that this is something he could share with Jonny. "I know."

He rubs at his ring again, and when he looks down at where Jonny's hand is cupping his bump, he sees Jonny's own wedding ring glint on his finger in the sunshine-flooded brightness of the kitchen. It's weird that the thought surfaces in his mind during what should be a happy moment, but Patrick abruptly feels a little pang in his chest. It's a shame that - whatever they're doing, the marriage, the kisses, the sex, all these tender little touches - have to come to an end. Patrick needs to keep reminding himself of that, because it wouldn't be smart to get too attached to their marriage, to _Jonny_. Maybe all of this - it'll disappear once the twins are born and Jonny's responsibilities transfer from Patrick to the babies. 

He really should enjoy this more before it all ends, he thinks. 

So he pulls Jonny in for another kiss, and Jonny comes back in, easy and natural, and then they're standing in the kitchen holding on to each other while Patrick gets the breath and the dark thoughts kissed out of him.

\---

"Hey, so, I was thinking - " Jonny begins.

"Hmm?" Patrick says. He's distracted flipping through a baby names book Jackie had sent him; the title is _10,000 Baby Names and Meanings_. The package had arrived earlier that morning, and he'd promptly gone into a mild panic because - baby names. Shit. He and Jonny are going to have to think of names for the babies. 

So he's spent the past two hours while Jonny was out at practice reading through the book; he's still only at B and already he's written down a total of 36 names that fit his criteria: sound good, look good, have a good meaning.

He's never going to get to Z by the time the babies are here, at this rate. Maybe he should give Jonny the lists of names that he shortlists, ask Jonny to whittle them down further; and then he reminds himself to save a copy of that list into the baby scrapbook he's making for Jonny's Christmas gift.

"What are you reading?" Jonny asks, and comes over; he pushes the spine of the book up so he can look at the cover, and then - "Oh, fuck. Baby names. I forgot about those."

"You _forgot_ that we're going to have to name the babies," Patrick says, conveniently leaving out the fact that he'd done the exact same thing.

"As if you didn't," Jonny says, not at all fooled. "But - holy shit. I was getting used to calling them 'babies'. This kind of - makes it all seem extra serious, eh?"

Patrick nods. He can't really put a finger on _why_ this seems so weirdly important, but picking out names for the babies - it somehow really drives home the fact that this is actually happening, that in just three or four months they're going to be _here_. He totally gets how Jonny feels.

"Okay, well," Jonny says, flopping onto the couch next to him; Patrick catches a waft of his body wash, the one he always uses at the UC, and takes a sneaky deep breath of it. "Any luck?"

"I've barely started," Patrick says. He pokes at his notebook, perched on his lap. "I kind of shortlisted a bunch, but - there are a ton of names, and I was thinking - maybe you'd want to go through my shortlist, narrow it down a little more?"

Jonny's smile is soft but surprised, like he didn't expect Patrick to ask him that. "You want me to do that?" he asks, reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind Patrick's ear; it promptly springs back over his cheek. His hair's really getting a little too long now, but what the hell, he's going to enjoy these luscious pregnancy locks while he can.

"Yeah, of course," Patrick says. "You're papa."

He means it as a bit of a Canadian joke - he'd always assumed Jonny was going to be 'dad' - but as he says it, he suddenly recalls something he'd heard Andree mention once, that she'd picked the names Jonathan and David for her boys because she wanted names that sounded good in both French and English. He looks down at his list again, an idea taking shape in his mind. Maybe - he could do the same. Jonny would like that, and Andree certainly would, and - it'd help, at least, to weed out a bunch of the names he's written down.

"Papa, eh?" Jonny says, still smiling. "You know what, I like the sound of that." 

Patrick thinks he does too. Then he remembers - "Hey, you were going to tell me something when you came in?"

"Oh, yeah," Jonny says, sitting up. "I was thinking - how would you feel if I invited both our families here for Christmas?"

"Oh - shit, Christmas," Patrick says, startled. God, staying home all the time without hockey is really making him lose track of time; Christmas must be, what, just three weeks away? "Bryan and Andree want to come?"

"Oh yeah, and David too," Jonny says. "They can't wait to see you, really. Is that okay? I'll put them in a hotel, obviously, but I was thinking on Christmas Day they could be here, we could do a big lunch and dinner, have a giant ham, prime rib, whatever you want."

"That would be perfect," Patrick says, sincerely. "I'd love to see them too."

"Okay, and what about the girls and Donna and Tiki? I'd give them a call, but I'm not sure if you've made any plans with them yet."

Okay, now that kind of gives Patrick pause. His family are big on Christmas, and it's become a family tradition for the Kanes to travel to Chicago for the holidays. They should have had plans made by now, but there hasn't been any news from his parents - which he expects, because his dad still refuses to speak to him, but now dread is settling over him like a bucket of ice poured down his spine.

Fuck. How is Christmas going to happen if his dad won't talk to him or see him? Or worse - what if his mom and the girls decide to take his dad's side on this, and then he'll be here without his family on Christmas for the first time in his life?

Jonny's watching him curiously, and Patrick - he doesn't know what's showing on his face, but he schools it into what he hopes is a blank sheet. Jonny doesn't know that Patrick's dad isn't speaking to him, and - maybe this was something he should have mentioned, but he doesn't want Jonny to know and blame himself or something dumb like that. So all he says is, "Yeah, we haven't actually planned anything yet except for Erica - she's already told me she won't be coming to Chicago this year because she's doing Christmas with her boyfriend and his family instead, but I'll give them a call."

"It’d be awesome if we could get both our families together for Christmas," Jonny says.

Patrick's not sure if that's going to be able to happen. But he doesn't say anything, and looks back down at the baby names book instead. This probably is a better use of his time than worrying about his father.

\---

Jonny leaves the next morning for the team's East Coast road trip, and Patrick keeps himself busy the whole day with a yoga class, working on the baby scrapbook, and learning a new recipe for lamb chops with a rosemary and mint sauce during his online class with The Chopping Block. He's told Jonny about his classes, but so far he hasn't actually cooked anything for himself or Jonny at home; if the lamb chops turn out good, he might want to make this for Jonny when he's back from his road trip.

The lamb chops definitely end up being very tasty, although Patrick's presentation leaves much to be desired; the lamb chops and garlic mashed potatoes on his plate look nothing like the beautifully plated dish the instructor had shown them in the class. But they _taste_ good, so they're going to be what Jonny gets for dinner next week when he returns from his road trip, lovingly prepared by Patrick, and Jonny had better be grateful for it.

Patrick's grinning to himself thinking about Jonny's shock when he walks into the condo to a home-cooked dinner, and settles himself at the dining table with his plate, turning the TV on so he can watch the Blackhawks play the Isles while he eats.

The game is midway through the third period and locked at 1-1 when Pat Foley and Eddie Olzyck say something about the Christmas break that's coming up, and Patrick suddenly remembers, shit, he's supposed to call his family about Christmas. He looks down at his empty plate, glad that he'd finished his food first, because he's not sure he'd have the stomach for it if he'd spoken to them before he'd eaten.

He gets up and wanders into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him to drown out the noise of the TV and the game, and calls Jessica, because of all his sisters she's the most level-headed one, and probably the one who'd know best how to deal with their dad.

"How are my nephews?" is the first thing Jess says when she picks up.

"Is this how you greet your only, best, favourite brother?" Patrick says, but just hearing her voice is making him smile.

"Yes," Jess says. "Sorry, bro, you've been replaced. I only want to know about my nephews."

"They're _fine_ ," Patrick says. He puts his hand on his bump and pats it. "Kicking like soccer players."

"What if they decide to play soccer instead of hockey when they grow up?"

"They're not even born yet," Patrick says, amused. "We're already thinking about _when they grow up_?"

"Gotta plan ahead, Patty," Jess says. "So what's up? You don't call us much nowadays, everything okay?"

The moment she says it, Patrick feels a stab of guilt. He's not avoiding his sisters, he never would, but he's had so much going on and every time they do talk they just carefully skirt around any mention of their dad. He knows they know what's going on, and obviously they're not - they can't take sides, but that's - just not a good feeling, knowing that his family is splintering behind the scenes.

'We're good, everything's good," he says instead.

"How's Jonny?"

"He's - " Patrick pauses, not sure what to say. Saying Jonny's 'good' sounds far too banal for everything Jonny's been doing for him and the babies, but if he says any more than that it's going to tip over into embarrassing gushing, and Jackie still hasn't let him forget the last time they spoke and he spent half an hour just talking about Jonny and all the great things about him. "He's been great. Amazing, really. Did I tell you he bought me that crazy expensive cream you recommended?"

"Did he really?" Jess says. She sounds amused, and Patrick's not quite sure why.

"Yeah, I didn't think he would, but he actually did. And it really seems to work, you know, I've been using it every night and I don't have any stretch marks yet, but maybe as I get bigger I'll start seeing them."

He very carefully leaves out that Jonny's the one who rubs the cream into his skin whenever he's home, and how his hands are big and warm, and how sometimes he'll kiss Patrick's bump when he's done and say goodnight to the babies in soft French, and how whenever he does that Patrick can't help but pull Jonny up and over him so they can kiss, and how Jonny will open him up with his fingers still slick from that $400 cream and how that's probably why Patrick runs out of it much faster than he should and Jonny keeps blowing money on buying more - 

Nope. He most certainly isn't going there while on the phone with his sister.

"Anyway," he says, clearing his throat, "I was just planning what to do for Christmas - are you guys coming to Chicago this year?"

There's a pause - a long one, and Patrick feels his heart sink.

"Jess?" he asks finally, when she still doesn't say anything for what feels like the longest time.

"I thought you knew," she says in a small voice, and Patrick's heart splashes into his stomach.

"Knew what?"

"Erica's going to be spending this Christmas with Scott and his family - she said she was going to tell you, but I guess she forgot."

"Oh, I knew that already," Patrick says, remembering the last time he spoke to Erica. "She did tell me, yeah, and she said she'd come visit me after New Year's instead. What about the rest of you?"

"Well, Jackie and I already planned to come to Chicago anyway, so that's not a problem - but - Dad said he's not coming."

And there it is. There's the thing Patrick always knew but never wanted to accept until here and now, when he hears it directly from his sister.

"I see," he says through lips that have gone numb. He doesn't know why he's feeling like this. He _knew_ this was going to happen.

"And - I don't think Mom is going to make it either."

And this - _this_ hits even harder, because he wasn't expecting it at all; his dad, yes, but his mom? 

"What?" he says, and feels the tears beginning to spring to his eyes. Fuck, _fuck_. 

He realises dimly that he's squeezing his phone too hard, the edges of it digging painfully into his palm, and forces himself to relax his grip.

"Patty, I'm sorry," Jess says pleadingly. "She tried, she really did. She had a fight with Dad about it - but he was insistent he wouldn't go, and in the end Mom said she'd stay with him, if only so he wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone, but I know she'd much rather come and see you. Please, don't be upset at her - "

And that's really a fucking joke, because she could have mae a much clearer statement in support of Patrick making his own life choices if she'd just told his father to shove it and come to Chicago. He still remembers when he and Jonny had first told her about the pregnancy and she'd cried from happiness; she was the one who told his father about it to shield Patrick from his dad's anger. They speak on the phone every couple of weeks and she's always asking for updates on the twins. There had been a little foolish part of him deep inside that hoped that maybe she was delivering the information about the babies back to his dad, even if his dad didn't want to hear it.

He'd always thought his mother was on his side. And now - well, she's made her choice to pull away and stand by his dad, apparently. 

"When was she intending to tell me?" Patrick asks, taking a deep shaky breath.

Jess hesitates. "That was weeks ago - I kind of thought she would already have told you."

That - says a lot. Patrick's spoken to his mother a couple of times in the past few weeks, and not once had she mentioned Christmas, or his dad, or any of this.

"No," he says, trying to hold himself together. "No, she didn't say anything."

And maybe she was never going to. She's too afraid. Afraid to go against his dad, and afraid to let Patrick know. But she's going to end up disappointing one of them anyway, and at this point, it's Patrick who loses.

Patrick curls his free hand over his bump. Takes another deep breath, reminds himself of the two little lives inside of him, completely dependent on him, and how it will absolutely not be beneficial to get stressed or sad or angry.

"I'm sorry," Jess says again, sounding upset. That's not right. None of this is Jess' fault.

"It's fine," Patrick says. He strokes his hand up and down over the curve of his belly, watching the glint of his wedding ring on his finger, thinking of his babies. Just think of the babies. "Really. I'm just happy you and Jackie can make it. Let me know when you want to fly out? I'll buy the tickets and book a couple of rooms in the hotel for you guys."

"I - okay," Jess says helplessly. "Patty - don't be mad?"

"I'm not," Patrick says. He's not lying either. He's not really angry, just - sad, and wishing he wasn't. "It's fine. We've got just a couple of weeks till Christmas, so talk to Jackie and let me know, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jess says, quiet. "Hang in there, okay? I can't wait to see you."

"Me too," Patrick says, and bites back the words he's dying to say - if only his parents felt the same way. "Love you. Call me."

After Jess hangs up, Patrick has to take a minute to just - lean against the wall and gather himself together. He keeps his hand on his belly like it's a lifeline, and one of the babies very helpfully nudges him from the inside at that moment; he uses the little knock on his belly to pull himself back in, and presses the pad of his thumb against the solid metal of his ring to ground himself. 

When he feels like he can finally stand upright, he walks back out into the living room, and sees that the clock's winding down on the game already. It had been tied when he started talking to Jess; the score now shows 3-1 to the Isles. The Blackhawks are losing.

That's all right. That's par for the course. That's exactly how he feels.

\---

Patrick's not sure how to tell Jonny that his parents won't be coming; Jonny's definitely under the impression that they will be. He starts booking flights and hotel rooms for his own parents and David when he's back from the East Coast, but when he offers to make the hotel bookings for Patrick's sisters and parents as well, Patrick tries to fend him off by insisting he'll do it himself.

"It's fine," Jonny says, credit card ready in hand while he stares expectantly at Patrick. "We might as well put them in the same hotel, and I'm already making reservations - it's just adding a few more rooms."

"No, I mean - really, I can do it myself," Patrick says awkwardly. 

"I just said, it's easier this way - why do you want to make two separate reservations for the same hotel when I'm already doing it? It makes no sense."

"I mean, they're my family, I should pay for them," Patrick says. 

Jonny stares at him incredulously. "And you think a couple of thousand dollars is going to make any difference to me?"

"You're already paying for the twins' nursery," Patrick argues weakly. He doesn't even know why he's fighting Jonny so hard on this. It's not like he can keep it from Jonny forever; the jig will be up on Christmas Day anyway.

Jonny just narrows his eyes at Patrick, like he _knows_. "Okay, what's going on here?" he asks, and - crap, maybe he does kind of know something's up. "So what, you mean I can't spend money on my children and my in-laws?"

Patrick stares at him. "What?" he says; to say he's stunned would be an understatement, hearing Jonny throw out 'in-laws' like that, all casual and shit, like he _means_ that.

Jonny stares back. " _What_ what?" He shows no indication that he realises what he'd just said - or that it's completely throwing Patrick off balance. 

Okay, fuck, Patrick needs to get himself under control. If Jonny thinks it's no big deal, then it shouldn't be a big deal, right? He takes a deep breath, and forces his thoughts back to the issue at hand.

"Listen - my parents aren't coming," he says. "Jess and Jackie are - but they're not."

"Wait a minute," Jonny says, sitting up straight. "Why not?"

Patrick bites his lip and looks down. He can't look directly at Jonny - he _knows_ if Jonny sees his eyes, it'll be all over. He rubs his wedding ring again. "They decided to stay in Buffalo this year."

There's a long silence, and then Jonny says, "It's because of me, isn't it?"

Patrick snaps his eyes up. "What - _no_ ," he says, and it's not a lie. Patrick's dad isn't mad at Jonny. He's mad at Patrick, for getting pregnant, for missing out on a season of hockey and a possible Stanley Cup, for steadily getting closer to a Hart and losing a whole year of momentum now, and having to start all over again with conditioning and training for next season, and maybe his body will have changed irreversibly and he might not ever recover his pre-pregnancy form - 

Fuck. He doesn't want to think about all of that. He made his choice a long time ago and no matter what happens to his career after this, he's already accomplished far more than 90 percent of hockey players. He's never going to regret having his babies.

"It's really not you," is all he says to Jonny, eventually.

Jonny stares at him steadily for a few moments, and just as Patrick starts feeling as if he needs to find some way to tear his eyes away from Jonny's crazy intense gaze, Jonny reaches out to him. "C'mere," he says, pushing his laptop onto the coffee table, and pulls Patrick into his lap, folding his arms around Patrick's body.

Patrick feels himself melt gratefully into Jonny's hold, and sinks into the feel of Jonny's arms around him, the clean, familiar scent of his soap. Jonny cups a hand over Patrick's bump - it's big enough now that even Jonny's large hand spread wide over it only covers the apex. He strokes gently over Patrick's belly, and presses a kiss to Patrick's forehead.

"I'm sorry," Jonny says at last. "I know you were - I know you wanted them here."

Patrick takes a deep, shuddering breath. "It's okay," he says. "The girls will be here. And Erica will come after New Year's."

"Yeah," Jonny agrees. He tightens his hold on Patrick. "And - my parents too. I know it's not the same, but - they want to see you. They'll be happy to see you."

"Yeah, I'll be really glad to see them too," Patrick says. And he means it; Andree and Bryan have always been kind to him, treated him like a third son, really, ever since he was drafted. But it makes him think again about what Jonny had said earlier about his in-laws, and - are Bryan and Andree Patrick's in-laws? Legally, they are, aren't they, since Jonny and he are married?

Maybe that's all Jonny meant, that Patrick's parents are his in-laws because in the eyes of the law, they're married. Patrick can roll with that. The Toews-Gilberts would make great in-laws, even for a fake son-in-law. And they've been so supportive of him and the pregnancy, and the girls are going to be here. It's not going to be completely sucky.

"You gonna be okay?" Jonny's asking. His hand moves around on Patrick's bump in slow, soothing circles, and one of the babies sticks his foot or fist into Patrick's abdomen, against Jonny's palm.

Patrick leans his full weight against Jonny's broad, comforting chest and thinks on it. "Yeah," he finally says. "I think I will be."

\---

"And here's the nursery," Jonny says, throwing open the door with a flourish, as if he's giving a grand tour of Patrick's condo and his parents and Patrick's sisters have never been here.

There's a chorus of _ooh_ s and _ahh_ s as everyone crowds in. Patrick hangs behind, smiling, resting his hand on his bump. He hasn't stopped smiling since the girls arrived, followed by Jonny's parents and David, and he's spent all afternoon eating and being fussed over and doted on, which is basically _the_ life.

"That wall mural is great," Jackie says.

"Oh yeah," Jonny replies. "Our interior designers found a fantastic painter, and we asked for a woodland scene, and she came up with this."

'This' is a wide, sweeping mural that runs the length of the room across the entire wall that's facing the double crib, depicting a woodland glade with a lake, birds, monkeys and giraffes amongst tall trees, deer and rabbits in sunlight-dappled grass, a tiger and lion drinking at the lake, and an adorable toadstool house. The animals are all stylized to look cutesy rather than realistic, obviously, with bright colours and clean lines, but the mural looks amazing and Patrick loves it.

"Jon, the crib," Bryan's saying. "Have you checked - ?"

"Passes all the safety tests and ratings," Jonny says promptly. Patrick knows Jonny's made very sure of that too. He might be even slightly more obsessive about checking things like toxicity and safety ratings and combing through online reviews than Patrick is.

But only slightly.

The doorbell buzzes, jolting Patrick a little.

"Is that our Christmas Eve dinner?" Bryan says.

"Yeah, I think it is, I'll get it," Patrick calls as he heads to the living room to buzz the delivery guy up.

Andree comes into the kitchen to help him a little while later; their family group has moved on from the nursery to the Christmas tree in the living room, seven feet tall and smelling sweetly of pine, because Patrick made sure he got a real tree this year. 

"Jonathan tells me you guys decorated the tree yourself," she says, gently chivvying Patrick out of the way so she can take over the work. In some ways, Jonny's very much like his mother, Patrick thinks.

"Yeah," Patrick says. "Do you know, it's the first time I've decorated a tree myself in years? Ever since I got drafted and moved to Chicago? I used to always just pay people to do it for me."

Andree smiles. "When the boys were younger, we always made sure we decorated our trees as a family. We'd make quite a big deal out of it, you know, and the boys loved it. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that Jonathan thought hanging hockey memorabilia on our trees was good decoration."

Patrick stifles a laugh. "Oh yeah, I can absolutely imagine that."

"Did you like doing it?" Andree asks.

Patrick doesn't even need to think about it, because - yeah, he really did. It had seemed so daunting at first, when this giant bare tree was delivered to the condo, because he didn't even know where or how to start; but then Erica pointed him to Pinterest and that was _it_. Patrick's sure he and Jonny spent several days covered in glitter from the sparkly silver and gold balls he got, and glittery snowflake ornaments, and snow angels and Santa Claus ornaments with more glitter. There had been glitter showing up in their bed, on the kitchen counters, on their clothes for days after.

Patrick had loved every moment of it, especially when Jonny had the best idea for a tree topper: an absolutely cheesy selfie of them grinning at the camera post-tree decoration, with glitter on their hands and faces, Patrick's shirt pulled up to show his baby bump where Jonny had wrapped a string of tinsel around it, and both of them giving it finger guns. It was dorky and dumb and fun, and Patrick had secretly printed another copy of it to put into the baby scrapbook he's giving Jonny for his Christmas gift.

"Yeah," he answers. "We had a ton of fun."

Andree's silent for a few moments, smiling like she's lost in thought about something, but then she says, "I'm so glad to see how good you boys are together."

Patrick cocks his head; he doesn't quite get what she means. Jonny and he have _always_ been good together, whether on ice or off it. "We are good," he says, by way of an answer.

"I was worried for a long time, thinking that the burden of keeping a secret like this from your friends and teammates and the public, faking a marriage, would be too much after a while. But - you boys are holding up so well. I'd almost think - " and she stops again, looking up at Patrick with eyes that are surprisingly intense and which make Patrick think of Jonny.

"You'd think?" Patrick asks, careful.

"If I didn't know the truth behind this, I'd almost think you were married for real," Andree says. "I always used to joke about you both acting like an old married couple, but - seeing what you have now here, living together, doing something warm and simple like decorating your tree together - you look like a real family."

Oh. _Oh_. Fuck. That's just - 

"I - that - I mean, we're not really," Patrick says, fumbling for an answer. Andree's words feel like lightning bolts in his skull. It's crazy. Jonny and he aren't a real family, they have nothing binding them together except the babies, and once they come - "It's just, you know, for the team - the babies, when they're here, things will go back to normal, and - "

Except - _this_ is what feels normal to him now, having Jonny in his home and in his bed, having Jonny care for him and pamper him and touch him and kiss him. And it's - this is a bad idea, isn't it? Patrick should know, he's reminded himself about it enough times, that he should enjoy all of this while it lasts but not get used to it, because once the babies are born it’s done. He's not Jonny's real, permanent husband and he's never going to be.

"We're not," he finishes helplessly. He's not even sure what he's trying to say anymore.

Andree's still looking at him with those steady, intense eyes that are so similar to Jonny's, and then she reaches out and pats him on the cheek. "It's okay, _cher_ ," she says. "You both seem happy, and that's the important thing."

Patrick nods. He _is_ happy. That's just the truth. He's happy as long as he doesn't remember how, a few months from now, he and Jonny will have to go back to 'normal'. Whatever normal is for them.

"Now, will you help me to bring the plates out?" Andree asks, and Patrick gratefully seizes the opportunity to stop thinking about all of this. It's Christmas. He just wants to be happy.

\---

Patrick spends Christmas Day catching up with Jess and Jackie, talking about baby stuff with Andree and Bryan and gleefully listening to them reminisce about Jonny as a baby, FaceTiming Erica, and taking full advantage of having his sisters around to fuss over him and his belly, while Jonny and David play video games that get steadily louder and rougher by the hour.

It's a really good day, and after dinner Jonny and Bryan head into the kitchen to load dirty dishes into the dishwasher while the girls chat with Andree. Patrick gets into a hockey discussion with David; he knows that after David was released from his last AHL team, it had taken him a while to find his feet again. He'd moved to Jonny's cottage in Lake of the Woods, started a small business as a fishing and hiking guide. Jonny doesn't talk much about the three or four years between David leaving hockey and starting his business, but Patrick knows just enough to figure out that David was severely depressed for a while, blaming himself for not being as good as Jonny at hockey, blaming Jonny for being better than him.

Patrick still remembers when the Blackhawks signed David, how they'd hoped David being on a winning team with Jonny might help to revive his hockey career - but then he was assigned to the IceHogs, and his career had never come back from that after. He can't even imagine what that must have been like for David, coming to a new team, brimming with hope, and then sent down to the minors while watching your brother captain an NHL team to Stanley Cups.

He also knows Jonny's done everything he could to help David: he paid for all of David's therapy and financed him in starting his business. It had been a tough few years for Jonny and his family, and it's only recently that David managed to pull out of it, but looking at him now, animated and happy and talking about hockey like it no longer hurts - Patrick's really glad for him. 

"So your guide business up there, it seems to be doing pretty well," Patrick says, when the conversation veers off to what David's been doing recently (fishing, more fishing, hiking with tourists, just getting serious with a girl he's been dating for a couple of months).

"Oh yeah," David says, nodding. "Even when it's not tourist season, I still get a lot of people coming in from the area around the lake. Everything's great. I'm really enjoying what I have now."

"I'm glad you're happy," Patrick tells him sincerely. "It sounds to me like you've really found your niche, something you love doing."

A smile breaks over David's face. "Did Jonny tell you he helped me with all of that? He gave me a loan - obviously he says it's a gift, but I'm paying him back for it, now that I've started turning a profit."

"He didn't really say anything," Patrick says; and it's true Jonny didn't have to, but Patrick could guess well enough.

"He's - " David hesitates for a moment, as if he's thinking of what to say. "You know, there was a point in time when I resented him. Like a lot. For things that weren't his fault."

Patrick says nothing, just sits and listens. 

"It took me a while, but I finally realised it wasn't fair to - put any kind of blame on him. The way Jonny is, as a person and as a player - he inspires envy, if you know what I mean. But it's not his fault that he's who he is. And - he's always been supportive of me. Proud of me, too, even when there wasn't much to be proud of."

"David - " Patrick begins, but David shakes his head.

"I'm lucky I have a brother like him," he says. "I owe him a lot. And that's why I'm really happy for him, and for you too, obviously. You're going to have a perfect family together, and I couldn't ask for more for him."

The moment David says that, though, it feels like someone's just punched Patrick in the throat so hard he can't breathe for a few seconds. _A perfect family._ Yeah, Patrick's always thought he had that - until now, sitting here in his condo, without his parents on Christmas Day. And - Jonny might be his family, sort of, even if they're going to get an annulment in a few months, even if they're not married for real, simply because they're always going to be tied together by the babies. 

But that's not the kind of family Patrick dreams of for himself. _A perfect family._ What a pipe dream.

David's watching him closely. "You okay, Patrick?" he asks.

Patrick doesn't know what David's seeing on his face, but whatever it is, he needs to rein it in before David starts asking any probing questions. "Yeah. I'm just a little thirsty," he says, standing up and rubbing his wedding ring restlessly. "I'm going to get something to drink - you want anything?"

"I'm good," David says.

Patrick manages a smile. "I'll be back," he says, and heads off towards the kitchen.

He's still thinking about how Jonny and he are going to have to handle being a-family-but-not-a-family in the future, so he's got one foot in the kitchen before it registers that he can hear Jonny in there talking, and - his voice is raised. It's not sounding very good; it sounds _angry_. 

Patrick stops just beyond the doorway of the kitchen, where the angle of the entrance means that he's at least partially hidden from anyone who's standing deep in the kitchen. Jonny's voice is definitely raised, the tone of it tight and heated. He's speaking in French, so Patrick doesn't understand what he's saying, but - is he arguing with Andree for some reason?

He wavers, wondering what to do. Should he leave instead of standing here and eavesdropping? Should he go into the kitchen, let them know he's here so they'll stop fighting? Try to intervene to calm Jonny down, maybe - except this isn't really any of his business, is it? He can't even imagine what might have happened in the past half an hour to get Jonny so mad at his mother. He's never heard Jonny being angry at Andree before. 

But then he hears Bryan's voice saying, "Jon, son, there's nothing you can do about that." Patrick starts a little at that; so Bryan's there too. Maybe he's mediating whatever's going on with Jonny; in which case, Patrick _really_ should leave quietly before they realise he's here, because this is none of his business unless Jonny chooses to tell him about it later.

Jonny says something in French again. He sounds so angry he's almost snarling.

"Yes, I know," Bryan says. "But all you can do is be there for Patrick, because Patrick needs you. It's not your place to say anything about what his parents choose to do."

It takes two seconds for it to click in his mind that they're talking about _his_ parents - Patrick's parents. Jonny's angry about Donna and Tiki. 

Patrick freezes in place.

He hears Andree say something in French, and then Jonny's reply, again in French, but even though Patrick can't understand the words, the tone of it sends chills down his spine. Jonny sounds absolutely furious, almost vicious, like the words he's spitting out are causing him pain.

Bryan sighs. "I know. Just - you need to stick with Patrick. He's going to need you more than ever now."

Patrick's braced for another barrage of venomous-sounding French, but Jonny's response is in English, and it hits Patrick right in the gut. 

"I am. I will. I'm not leaving him," Jonny says. "And I'm sure as hell not going to be that kind of dad who won't be there for my children when they need me most."

"Then that's all you need to do," Bryan says, and Andree adds something else in soft French.

"I won't leave him," Jonny repeats.

Patrick's finding it hard to breathe. Jonny won't leave him. Jonny's not leaving their babies. And - Jonny's not going to be like Patrick's dad. His paternal love doesn't need to be bought with fame and accolades and trophies.

His eyes are starting to get blurry with tears.

He slips out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, where he can lock himself in the ensuite bathroom and sit on the edge of the bathtub and try to breathe through his tears, his hands shaking.

It's not until much later when he's composed enough to let himself out of the bathroom and back to the living room - he sees at once that Jonny and his parents are already back there, Jonny on the sofa talking to Jackie, loose and easy like that whole conversation had never happened - that something occurs to him:

Jonny said he _won't_ leave. Not that he _can't_.

Jonny looks up at that moment and right at him, as if he can feel that Patrick's thinking about him, and smiles, his face growing bright at the sight of Patrick.

Patrick feels like someone's stuck a whisk down his throat and stirred up all his insides. He feels - he doesn't really know how he feels. It's weird. He's been bracing himself for weeks for the inevitable moment Jonny's going to get their marriage annulled and walk out of this condo. And to hear Jonny say that he won't -

Patrick doesn't know what it _means_.

One of the babies kicks and he puts his hand over his bump, smiling back at Jonny on autopilot, and finds himself thumbing restlessly at his wedding ring. 

\---

They exchange gifts after dinner, and Patrick gets a watch from Jonny: a limited edition Rolex Daytona Rainbow, encrusted with sapphires around the bezel in a rainbow colour gradation. Patrick loves it immediately - it speaks to his bling-loving, watch-collecting heart, and if he'd had to choose a watch for himself after purchasing his Submariner last year, it would have been this one. He doesn't know how Jonny somehow manages to hit it right out of the park with his gifts every time. It's actually kind of annoying how good he is at getting Patrick presents.

"Mine's not as good, I didn't spend a cent on it," he warns as he hands over Jonny's gift in return, wrapped in festive red paper and tied with a fat silver ribbon. Patrick had wrapped it himself. It hadn't been easy; he'd had to watch a bunch of Youtube videos and try for like two hours and wasted a ton of wrapping paper in the process, but he'd finally got it looking passable. It still exasperates him a little that his hands, which are so finely-tuned and which work exactly and perfectly the way he needs them to in hockey, can't handle simple shit like wrapping a gift.

Jonny's eyes light up anyway. "I've been waiting for this one," he says gleefully, tearing into it right away; Patrick watches mournfully as Jonny rips apart the paper he'd painstakingly taken hours of practice to wrap. But Andree catches his eye, and she gives him a knowing smile; he winks back at her. Andree's been very helpful throughout his endeavour in making the baby scrapbook, sending him pictures of Jonny as a baby and as a kid.

Jonny's got the scrapbook out now, and he looks down at it. "This is - " he begins, his thumb tracing over the letters Patrick's written on the front of the book in Sharpie: **BABY BOOK** , and then below that - again with Andree's help - **LIVRE DE BÉBÉ**.

"I kind of put together a baby journal," Patrick says, and watches the delight dawn on Jonny's face as he flips the book open.

The first page has a copy of Patrick's very first sonogram pasted into it, and the date of the scan which Patrick wrote beneath that ( _September 24 2016, 12 weeks_ ). Jonny spends a few moments looking at it before turning to the next page, where he starts laughing. Patrick's put in a photo of himself as a baby at three months old ( _February 1989, 3 months_ ), and another photo of Jonny at around the same age ( _September 1988, 4 months_ ).

There are more pictures as Jonny keeps flipping through the book: photos of him and Patrick in peewee and midget, even an old photograph of Jonny at 11 years old wearing a Blackhawks jersey, a photo of his wedding band on his finger - Patrick had taken that picture to send to his sisters, but when he was going through his phone for photo ideas for the scrapbook, he'd seen it, and something had made him include it. The broad smile on Jonny's face isn't making him regret that decision at all.

He's even included a picture of two artichokes sitting side by side which he'd printed off Google images, and that makes Jonny laugh even harder.

"This is - amazing," Jonny says, when he reaches the last page where there's a photo - a sonogram from their last scan, when they'd found out the babies were boys, and two blue ribbons tied into bows that Patrick had glued onto the page. "God. I can't - this is gorgeous. _Patrick._ God, I love this."

Jess, peeking over Jonny's shoulder at the book, points at the next page, which is blank. "Lots of pages left for you guys to add on to the book."

"That's the idea," Patrick says.

Jonny looks up at him and smiles, his joy so bright that it's almost like looking into the sun. He takes Patrick's hand in his and squeezes. Just a light touch, but it's enough to make Patrick's heart skip a little in his chest.

"We're gonna fill this up," he says, and for a moment Patrick flashes back to eight years ago when they were rookies and Jonny had said nearly the exact same words to him. _We're gonna fill this place up._

And - they did that, for the Blackhawks, so maybe they can do this for their family too.

"Yeah," Patrick says. "Yeah, we can."

\---

After their families have left for the night to go back to their hotel, Jonny strips Patrick down to his bare skin and puts him on all fours on their bed with a pillow stuffed under his belly to support his baby bump, before he fucks into Patrick in a slow, rhythmic, delicious grind that has Patrick shivering and shuddering and desperate for more. 

Jonny fucks him like this for close to forty minutes, slow and steady, Patrick's cock so hard it almost hurts, leaking all over their sheets, before he finally breaks and begs Jonny to fuck him harder and _more_. It doesn't take him long to come when Jonny finally hitches his hips up and slams into him with devastating precision, Patrick's hole stretched wide and open around his thick cock, and when Jonny finally comes inside him and slips out of him, Patrick can feel the wet stickiness of Jonny's come leak out of his fucked-open hole as they both drop to the bed, panting hard.

Patrick curls up on his side, drifting in a warm glow of post-orgasmic satisfaction, waiting for Jonny to get them both cleaned up. He feels the mattress shift as Jonny sits up next to him, but - Jonny doesn't move to get out of bed after that. He just sits still, and doesn't seem to be doing anything.

Patrick cracks an eye open to look up at Jonny - and he's staring down at Patrick fixedly.

"What?" Patrick asks.

Jonny blinks. "I was just thinking - " he begins, and then stops.

"What is it?"

"I don't know if you'd let me, but - I kind of want to take a photo of you like this," Jonny says. "For the baby book."

"You want to take a photo of me. Naked. For our baby scrapbook," Patrick says flatly.

"Not like - _naked_."

"I am naked right now, moron."

"No, it's just - you look so gorgeous and relaxed lying there like that, and your hair is so long now, and - I mean I'd only take the photo from the waist up anyway. Just to have the baby bump in the picture."

Sometimes Patrick hates that Jonny has this ability to fuck him into a wrecked mess, because then his brain stops working and he has a tendency to agree with whatever Jonny wants after.

"I still think it's kind of weird that you want this to be your first contribution to the baby book, but fine," he says, and rolls back onto his side, the same position he'd been in.

Jonny brightens and grabs his phone from the nightstand. "Hold on, let me shift your arms a bit - yeah, this is good, just stay there."

Patrick keeps his eyes closed, and only opens them after he hears the shutter of Jonny's camera phone. "Done?" he asks. "Show me."

Jonny passes the phone to him, and for a moment Patrick's speechless. It's not like Jonny's much of a photographer - neither of them are - but maybe it's the soft warm lighting in their bedroom that makes him look like this in the photo, all gleaming pale skin, his curls spilling messily over his pillow and cheeks. His arms are positioned so that his chest is hidden, and Jonny kept his promise and took the photograph only from the waist up, but there's a hint of the top swell of his ass, where the small of his back just starts to curve out into it. But the main focal point of the photo is his bump, large and rounded and glowing softly in the light. It's a little surreal to look at it in a picture and realise how big it is now. It's just a few more months to the babies being born.

"This is okay, right?" Jonny asks. "I mean, it's not too porny for a baby scrapbook, right? And no one's going to know we were having sex right before this picture. Not unless we tell them."

"I'll kill you if you tell anyone," Patrick threatens. It's a good thing he bought that Bluetooth mini photo printer for their phones.

\---

A couple of days later, Patrick sees the baby book on the desk in their bedroom, and picks it up. He flips to the last page with a photograph, and there's the picture Jonny had taken of him in bed. Jonny's scratchy handwriting below it says: _Patrick, Christmas Day 2016, 26 weeks_.

It feels - Patrick feels as if he's looking at himself through Jonny's eyes, and it's weirdly intimate to know that _this_ is what Jonny sees when he looks at Patrick.

It makes Patrick smile; fuck, sometimes he loves Jonny so damn much it hurts.

And then he stops thinking, because - oh, _fuck_. 

He's in love with Jonny. Fuck.


	8. part eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning:** this chapter contains a sex scene with male lactation and lactation kink! if this isn't for you, no worries - the sex scene is the second half of the chapter, so you can go ahead to read the first half for plotty things, and then X out once you get to the porny bits :D
> 
> thank you as always to the lovely heartstrings and trademarkgiggle for their stellar beta work <33333

The New Year comes and goes; Erica arrives for her promised visit right after New Year's Day and stays for five days while Jonny's in and out, back on the hockey schedule. There's a lot going on, so Patrick can't be blamed for forgetting that he needs to decide whether he wants to fly out to Los Angeles with Jonny and attend the NHL 100 gala ceremony or not. The invite had been extended to him months ago, when the league informed him and Jonny that they'd been selected as two of the NHL's top 100 players of the century for the 100th anniversary celebration; but Patrick had held off formally accepting the invitation because of his pregnancy, deciding to wait and see how he'd feel about it when the time came.

But he gets an email from the Blackhawks' media relations team the same day Erica leaves Chicago, reminding him about the standing invite, and finally decides to talk to Jonny about it. He wonders what Jonny would think; he's pretty sure Jonny would want him there so they can accept the award together, but he also knows that if he tells Jonny he doesn't feel like going, Jonny would never force him to. Especially now, when he's 28 weeks pregnant and big with it, his growing babies pushing against his lungs and bladder, he really doesn't feel up to throwing on a nice maternity suit and getting up on a stage in LA in front of thousands plus a TV audience gawking at his belly. 

"Hey," he says that night when they're in bed, his shirt bunched up under his armpits while Jonny warms a dollop of stretch mark cream between his palms. "I got an email today about the NHL Top 100 ceremony thing. They need to know if I've decided to attend or not."

Jonny pauses and looks up, his hands flat on Patrick's belly, warm with the cream. Patrick likes looking at this, at Jonny's big hands spread out on his baby bump, careful and gentle. His belly is so large now that Jonny's fingers don't meet anymore at the apex of the curve when he has his hands on either side of the bump, even as big as they are. 

"And?" Jonny asks. "Do you want to go?"

Patrick watches as Jonny begins to rub the cream into his skin, in wide sweeping motions. It feels good like this, to be pampered and cared for. And Jonny - Patrick knows Jonny's not in love with him, that he's just being a responsible co-parent, but when it's late at night and there's just the two of them and Jonny's massaging cream into his baby bump so he doesn't get stretch marks, with that look on his face that tells Patrick he likes doing this as much as Patrick likes him doing it - it gets hard for Patrick to remind himself that it'll all be over soon once the babies arrive.

He swallows, blinking the thoughts out of his mind, and shrugs. "I don't know. I mean - how stupid is it going to look, a heavily pregnant NHL player accepting this award in front of so many people?"

"Hey," Jonny says, frowning, "there's nothing wrong with you being pregnant. And you've been given this award for what you've already done for hockey, what you've accomplished - and it's a hell of a lot more than any armchair keyboard warrior has. You _deserve_ this award and if you want to come up on stage to receive it, you don't have to let anyone hold you back. And I'll be right there with you."

He resumes his movements, slow long sweeping strokes over Patrick's bump. One of the babies pushes a tiny foot or fist against the inside of his belly, making a little bulge form on the outside of his bump, and Jonny smiles down at it, rubs his thumb gently over it.

Patrick's chest feels heavy with - something, he doesn't know what. He bites his lip, thinking of something to say, and what comes out is: "I wouldn't even bother thinking about going for the ceremony if you weren't going to be there."

"I know," Jonny says. "And - I'd love it if you were there, because I think you deserve to be. But if you'd rather not, that's totally up to you."

Patrick thinks a little more. "Is it safe for me to fly?" he asks; he's a hundred percent certain Jonny's already checked this out though. Jonny wouldn't even suggest Patrick coming for this if he wasn't sure it was safe.

"I did call Dr. Liu to ask about it a couple of weeks ago," Jonny says; _ah-hah_ , Patrick thinks, triumphant and fond. "She said it should be fine. And the Blackhawks will charter a private plane for us and Duncs and the staff who are going."

"Oh, good," Patrick says, sighing and leaning back against the headboard; he absolutely does not think he can face flying commercial at this point in his pregnancy. Then something clicks in his head, and he sits up straight again. "Wait - why did you call Dr. Liu to ask if I could fly? You didn't know if I'd want to go yet."

To his surprise, Jonny flushes. His hands still for a moment on Patrick's belly before he sits back and grabs the jar of cream, fiddling with the lid, scooping out another dollop.

"Jonny," Patrick says insistently. "What's going on?"

"Okay, well - I didn't know if you wanted to go for the Top 100 ceremony, or for the All-Star Game, but - we have a five day break after I'm finished with the ASG, right? And I kind of thought - I wanted to book us a small getaway for those few days, just get you somewhere nice where you can relax with me. And if you decided not to attend the ceremony, I thought I could charter a plane to fly you out to the resort and meet you there after the ASG - "

"Whoa, hold up," Patrick says, putting his hand up. "You booked us a vacation? Really?"

"I haven't _yet_ ," Jonny says. "I was planning to - but I was waiting to see what you decided to do first before asking you."

"Vacation where?" Patrick demands. Shit, a vacation with Jonny, just the two of them, away from the world? It sounds _amazing_ to him right now.

"In Utah," Jonny says. "Remember the Amangiri resort?"

Yeah, Patrick definitely remembers. They'd seen it on some travel show, World's Most Extraordinary Hotels or something like that, and even though Patrick considers himself more of a beach-type person, the utter quiet and serenity of a luxury resort deep in the Utah desert with nothing around for miles apart from sand dunes and the night sky was highly appealing. Plus, the resort looked amazing and luxurious, everything Patrick's comfort-loving self liked. 

He remembers he'd said something to Jonny like, _wish I could go there and try this place out - maybe after the babies are here and I can dump them on you, ha ha._ He'd never thought Jonny would want to go there with him.

But he's not complaining.

"Uh, _yes_ ," Patrick says. "Stop waiting and book it _now_."

Jonny laughs, his eyes crinkling with delight. "Okay, okay," he says, smoothing the last of the cream over Patrick's belly before he drops a kiss on the top of it. "I'll do it first thing in the morning. Promise."

"I want the best suite," Patrick says, remembering the one they'd shown on the show, with a private lap pool and a large day bed next to a fire pit overlooking the desert mesa.

Jonny's eyes are soft and pleased. "You can have whatever you want," he says.

Patrick makes up his mind. "And I'll come for the ceremony. And stay to watch you in the ASG. And then - "

"And then we can go to Utah together," Jonny finishes his sentence. "Four days of peace and quiet and no one to bother us."

It sounds like paradise.

\---

Patrick is nervous as hell when he hears his name being announced alongside Jonny's and Duncs'. He's never usually nervous about these things - hell, he's been on so many stages, so many times - and ever since the first few months of his pregnancy he's taken care not to look at social media or comments about him, but there's a part of him that dreads that moment he steps out into the bright spotlights of the Microsoft Theatre, his belly on full display in front of all the people in the audience and the fans sitting at home watching on TV, thinking that he'll hear boos instead of cheers.

But there's nothing he can hear except applause as he walks out; Jonny doesn't hold his hand or his arm, which Patrick is grateful for, because the last thing he needs is to appear weak or needy just because he's pregnant. But he does put a hand on the small of Patrick's back, just a light, reassuring touch, as they move to stand in a line alongside Crosby and Ovechkin.

Patrick shakes hands with them; Crosby gives him a small smile and Ovie pats him on the shoulder, and then he stands next to Jonny, reminding himself not to slouch or put his arms over his belly despite the strong, unpleasant feeling of being exposed.

He's avoided all media or interviews ever since their press conference, so he's aware most people haven't seen him the way he is now, in a nicely-tailored maternity suit that hugs his bump, which is - kind of alarmingly big now, with the twins. But if he doesn't appear on this stage as he is, what sort of message would that send out to the 26 other carriers (at last count) playing in the NHL? Because he knows that if Patrick Kane can't be proud of his pregnancy _and_ his ability to keep playing at the highest level afterwards, people are going to expect that other carrier players won't either, if they choose to have children during their careers.

So he stands tall, chin lifted, and listens to the thunderous applause coming in, Jonny's hand resting on his lower back gently.

\---

He deals with the media frenzy later, as best as he can; he's grateful the Blackhawks sent their head of security along just for him, because Brian is excellent at keeping out of the way while somehow simultaneously knowing exactly when Patrick's had enough and extracting him from the chaos. And it is pretty much chaos, with dozens of reporters crammed in front of his little table, mics, lights, and cameras shoved in his face, but he gets it. It's his first interview and public appearance in months, apart from being in the management box in the UC for home games, and they're hungry for soundbites.

He manages to keep smiling through it all, says all the right things about it being an honour to be named as one of the top 100 players of the century, listens to the inevitable questions about his pregnancy and how he's feeling, gives careful answers about how everything is great, the twins are on track, his body's feeling good and still limber, et cetera. It's only when he starts blinking against the lights and drooping a little that Brian and Kim, the Blackhawks publicist, snap into action and call a stop to the scrum, before Brian escorts him down to the carpark, where a car is waiting to take him to the hotel. 

"Where's Jonny?" Patrick asks. "Is he already done?"

Brian shakes his head. "Not yet, but he asked me to take you to the hotel first so you could get some rest."

Patrick feels a little disappointed; but that's dumb, because it's not as if Jonny won't turn up later anyway. "Okay," he says, and climbs into the car alone.

The exhaustion comes down on him all of a sudden just as he unlocks the door of his hotel room and walks in, and his limbs feel like lead as he peels his clothes off in the bathroom. He runs a hot bath and pours in a little of a nice lavender and chamomile bath oil he brought along - he meant to use it when they're at the Amangiri, but he figures now is a good time for it anyway - and climbs in, aching all over, but most especially in his lower back and chest. His back hurts now whenever he has to stand or walk more than ten minutes at a time, and his chest has been a little swollen and sore ever since he moved into the third trimester.

It's still strange to him, how his body changes and behaves during his pregnancy, even after all these months. He's so used to it doing exactly what _he_ wants, when he's spent years to train it into a nearly-perfect, well-honed machine that moves and turns with a thought, that it catches him off balance - literally and figuratively - when he sometimes does things like stand up too fast and wobble on his feet because his middle is so large and heavy. Or when his back and feet hurt after a few minutes of standing, in a way that three overtimes of hockey never made them hurt.

He thinks about hockey and how his body might feel when he returns to the ice; will it ever again be as strong and lean and agile as it was? He remembers texting Zach Parise a few times, asking him about his pregnancy, and Parise admitted he'd never felt the same again after coming back, and that was why he'd decided to retire early. Patrick knew that without asking; he'd watched Parise play when he returned from giving birth, gone up against him a few times, and he was noticeably slower, weaker in his legs, went down more easily when hit. 

Admittedly Parise had had a difficult recovery from his C-section; Patrick never asked him much about it, but what he picked up was something about an infection and blood clots and transfusions and all kinds of scary-sounding shit that Patrick really prefers not to think about. In the end, it had taken Parise a year after the birth before he came back to play. He'd kept reminding Patrick that he was one of the unlucky ones, that most C-sections were simple, and that if Patrick didn't have any complications he'd be likely to bounce right back - but there's always that cold little shard of steel in the back of Patrick's mind, jabbing viciously into his brain, whispering _what if what if what if_.

One of the babies kicks, as if he knows Patrick's spiralling, and Patrick puts a hand on his belly, patting it. 

What would he do, if he couldn't go back to hockey?

He wouldn't regret the babies, he knows he wouldn't, but - what would he _do_?

"Patrick?" Jonny says, from right behind him, and Patrick yelps out loud, sitting up straight in the tub and then flailing for the sides to hold on.

"Holy fuck, you scared the shit out of me," he says, turning round. "Why didn't you say anything before coming in here all quiet like a creeper?"

"I called your name when I got into the room and didn't see you," Jonny says, frowning. He looks down at Patrick in the tub. "You okay there, babe?"

Patrick swallows. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just tired."

Jonny shrugs off his suit jacket and lets it puddle on the floor of the bathroom like the slob he is, but Patrick can't find it in himself to complain, not when Jonny's stripping out of his shirt and then his pants in quick order, revealing tanned skin and sharply-defined abs and thick thighs bunching with muscle. 

"Give me three minutes and I'll then join you in the tub," Jonny says.

The tub is meant to be big enough for two people, but definitely not for two hockey players, one of whom is 28 weeks pregnant with twins. Jonny's pretty much wedged in between the hard porcelain of the tub and Patrick's body weight, but Patrick likes it when he can squeeze between Jonny's legs and lean back against his chest, feeling the heat of his body and Jonny's arms around him. It helps keep the cold steel at bay.

Abruptly he thinks about the time a couple of weeks ago when Jonny had three days between games and they'd marathoned the MCU movies; it's weird to think of that at this time, but maybe he kind of understands how Tony Stark might have felt with that piece of shrapnel pointed at his heart, held back by an electromagnet. 

He shuts his eyes and feels Jonny rest his cheek on the top of his head. Jonny's stroking over his bump in slow, steady circles, and it's relaxing and calming and makes Patrick feel a little less anxious.

"Your back hurt?" Jonny asks. "Do you want me to rub it?"

"Yes, please," Patrick says, grateful that Jonny always knows exactly what he needs without him having to ask for it.

Jonny shifts them around a bit, the water sloshing, until he has space to get a fist between their bodies, and starts rolling his knuckles against the lower vertebrae of Patrick's spine, right where it aches from carrying the babies. He keeps his other hand on Patrick's belly as a gentle counterpoint to the pressure he's applying on Patrick's back. Patrick sighs a little and lets himself melt into Jonny's capable hands.

"How was everything?" he asks Jonny. "With the media stuff?"

"Fine," Jonny says. He spreads his hand open, pushes the heel of it against Patrick's back in rhythmic motions, like he's kneading a loaf of bread, but it somehow helps. "Had to stay back to do a few French interviews, got waylaid by an NHLPA rep for a quick video, but it was fine."

"Mm," Patrick says. He's getting a little hard already, from being in this close proximity with Jonny and Jonny's hands on him, but he actually is tired, and Jonny probably is, so they're not likely to do anything more than this tonight; but it's okay. He likes it enough, just like this.

"What were you thinking about?" Jonny asks. "When I came in? You were so deep in thought."

Patrick hesitates. "Nothing much," he says, glad that Jonny can't see his face. There’s no point telling Jonny when he's had a long day and doesn't need to deal with Patrick's insecurities. Jonny's always been convinced that he'll come back to hockey whole and healthy and unchanged, like he thinks him being certain about that means the universe is going to bend to his will and return Patrick to the game exactly as Jonny wants him. 

But that's always what Jonny's been like, all the time Patrick's known him.

"Really," Jonny says, dry, and rolls his knuckles over Patrick's back in a way that makes his spine melt.

"Will you still do this for me after?" Patrick blurts out, and then bites his lip. Fuck, _this_ wasn't exactly what he had in mind for distracting Jonny from his real thoughts.

"After what?"

"After the babies are here."

There's a silence, and Patrick feels his heart sink; but then Jonny says, quiet, "Whenever you need me to. Whatever you need me for. I'll do it."

Patrick takes a deep, slow breath. "Even after the babies are born?"

"That won't change anything. If you need me, I'm here. I'm always going to be here."

 _Even after we have to get divorced?_ It's on the tip of Patrick's tongue to ask, and it takes everything he has not to say it out loud.

It just - he knows Jonny cares deeply for him. Jonny maybe loves him, even. Just not in the way Patrick loves _him_ , and definitely not in the way Patrick wants him to.

Jonny switches hands, using his left hand on Patrick's back now with his right hand on Patrick's baby bump, and kisses the back of his neck where his curls are sticking, damp with the water and steam from the bath. "You know I mean it, right?"

And maybe that's the worst part. That Jonny does mean it. That Jonny's being so fucking sweet, and gentle, and caring, when Patrick knows it won't last. Jonny's going to find his special someone one day, live his life like it was meant to be lived, and Patrick will be left with nothing more than the sweet, aching memories of days like these when Jonny held him and kissed him and rubbed the pain from his body.

"I know," Patrick says. His voice is hoarse in his ears.

"You sound so tired," Jonny says. "Let's get you out of the bath and into bed, okay? I'll keep rubbing your back when we're in bed, if you want me to."

"No, I'm good now," Patrick says. Maybe Jonny's right. Maybe he's just tired and getting maudlin about it. It's not like he wasn't prepared that their whole - arrangement has an expiration date. The important thing is that Jonny's going to be a good father - which he is - and that Patrick should learn to enjoy each day as it comes. That's what he's been telling himself to do. Just live in the moment, and the future will take care of itself.

At least he's going to have this while it lasts, and then Jonny will ruin him for any other partner for the rest of his life, but it might be worth it.

Jonny lifts himself out of the tub, splashing water everywhere. "Come on," he says, bending down to help Patrick carefully to his feet, and holds him while he steps out of the tub, ungainly and wobbly. "Bed. The more we sleep, the quicker the next two days will pass, and then we'll be in Utah."

"Okay," Patrick says, and manages to smile.

Jonny rubs him down with a towel, slow and tender, from his shoulders to his toes, and Patrick's drooping on his feet by the time Jonny gets him into bed and spoons up behind him, his body radiating heat and his arm draped loosely over his bump. Patrick's drifting into sleep when he suddenly remembers something he needs to tell Jonny.

"Jonny," he says into the darkness of the room, and gets an answering low "mm"; Jonny sounds on the verge of sleep himself. "Alexander."

"Mm?" Jonny says again.

"Alexander," Patrick repeats, and feels Jonny shift behind him, his arm tightening on Patrick's belly. "And Lucas."

"Who the hell are Alexander and Lucas?" Jonny asks, and it takes a beat for Patrick to realise that Jonny might actually think that Patrick's saying some random dudes' names while they're in bed together. He wants to laugh; he actually might, if he weren't so tired.

"Our twins," Patrick says, and it hits him that this is the first time he's said 'our' out loud to Jonny. It sends a sweet tingle of warmth through his chest.

Jonny doesn't say anything, so Patrick elaborates. "I thought about names, and I looked at the ones you shortlisted, and I took a few days to think about it, but - Alexander and Lucas. I like them, and I think they're good in French too, so - "

"Oh," Jonny says. His breath puffs against the back of Patrick's neck. "So you - you took them from the list I suggested?"

"Yeah," Patrick says. He wriggles backwards, closer to Jonny. "I mean - what do you think? If you had something else in mind - "

"No, no, this is good," Jonny says. "I like those names. I did shortlist them, after all. They're beautiful. Alexander and Lucas."

He pronounces them in the French way, and - yeah, they do sound beautiful in French. Patrick's glad he chose well - no, he's glad both he and Jonny chose well.

"Goodnight, Jonny," he says, and rubs Jonny's arm, draped over his belly, before he moves his hand down so it slides on top of Jonny's, and intertwines their fingers together at the top of his bump.

"Goodnight," Jonny says in return, and squeezes his fingers before he taps Patrick's baby bump with his fingertips, like he's tapping a drum. "Night, Alexander. Night, Lucas."

\---

"Babe, you're going to burn."

Patrick opens his eyes and stares into - darkness. Then he remembers that he's got a sunhat over his face and pulls it off. The afternoon sun in the Utah desert is strong and bright, and he has to blink rapidly a few times before he adjusts to the blinding light.

"I put lots of sunscreen on," he says, by way of a response.

Jonny snorts. "You'd better get out of the sun and move to the shaded area."

"Don't wanna move," Patrick says, blinking up at Jonny and injecting just the tiniest bit of petulance into his voice.

It's just - the sun lounger is really comfortable, okay. There's a nice wind blowing in from the desert, the view of the mesa and sand dunes is stunning, he has a good book to read and possibly an even nicer view should Jonny decide to hop into their private pool right in front of Patrick's lounger and swim a few laps - especially since Jonny's naked.

Jonny's basically been naked since the moment they stepped into their suite at the Amangiri; Patrick hasn't quite gone that far, but all he has on at the moment are maternity shorts with a wide support band. The shorts are clingy and small and Jonny's already ruined one pair; Patrick's glad he brought several.

Jonny sighs. "I'll move you," he says, and then he drags the sun lounger with Patrick on it to the other side of the pool, where it's roofed and out of the sun.

Patrick bites back a grin; watching Jonny's biceps and shoulders ripple as he moves Patrick and the lounger with barely any visible effort is really doing it for him. Or maybe it's just that they're two days into a fantastic vacation in a dreamy, private location where they can do whatever they want and enjoy it. 

The suite is enormous, probably too large for two people, but Patrick loves the space, the light, the absolute privacy. They haven't left it since they've been here, not even to dine at the restaurant in the resort; it's been room service all the way, but the food is fantastic and the resort staff do a nice outdoor dining setup on the sun deck next to the firepit which is lit at night, with white tablecloths and flowers on the table and real silverware, and Patrick is perfectly happy staying in this little bubble they've created for themselves before they have to go back to the real world.

Jonny leans over the lounger once he's sure Patrick's comfortable and properly shaded, and pecks him on the lips. "I'm going to take a swim," he says. "You want to come in the pool with me?"

"You think I want to get in the pool when I didn't even want to get out of this lounger?" Patrick asks, amused.

"You just want to watch me," Jonny says. The corner of his mouth curves upwards in a smirk.

"Maybe I do," Patrick says boldly, looking up at Jonny and licking his lips with a slow swipe of his tongue.

Jonny kisses him again. "Then watch," he says against Patrick's mouth, like the smug asshole he is, and straightens up to walk towards the pool.

Patrick _does_ watch, and as if Jonny knows it, he pauses for a few seconds, poised on the edge of the pool. He's golden and tanned from just a couple of days in the sun here, and every part of his body is magnificent, from the thickness of his shoulders and arms to the solid muscle of his ass and his big cock between strong, muscled thighs. Patrick's maybe getting a little hard just looking, which is a feat in itself, considering that Jonny just fucked him an hour ago before they came out here into the sun. His thighs are still tacky from the remnants of Jonny's come leaking out of him.

Jonny leaps into the pool, and for one moment he seems to be frozen in time, lit up by the sun, every muscle and sinew of his big body on full display, before he drops into the pool with a huge splash and emerges again, shaking the water out of his face. Patrick keeps watching as Jonny starts swimming laps, his arms cutting cleanly through the water.

Maybe he should join Jonny. Just for a little while.

He lifts himself out of the lounger with some difficulty - damn, his belly's really getting heavy now - and peels his shorts off, folding them neatly and leaving them on the lounger. Then he walks towards the end of the pool where there are floating steps set into it and lowers himself carefully to sit on the step in the middle, his legs dangling in the water, waiting for Jonny to finish his lap and swim back towards him.

When Jonny reaches him, he stands up straight and looks up at Patrick, a smile playing about his lips. The water only reaches Jonny's waist when he's standing fully upright, and the step Patrick's sitting on is elevated a few inches above the water level, so Patrick can lift his legs and sling them over Jonny's shoulders, admiring the way Jonny's skin looks like this, wet from his swim and golden and gleaming in the sun. "Hi," he says.

Jonny looks very pleased to see Patrick in front of him, just as naked as he is. "You decided to come join me after all," he says, turning to press a kiss to the inside of Patrick's thigh.

Patrick hums. "I guess I did."

Jonny presses closer to him, working his way in between Patrick's thighs, until his body's pressed against Patrick's bump, just barely brushing his swollen cock and balls. Patrick thinks with some amusement that Jonny's mouth is pretty much at the level of his nipples, and almost as if Jonny can read his mind, he kisses Patrick on the chest just above his left nipple, and then closes his mouth around it for a slow, lingering suck.

Patrick draws in a breath; wow, he's especially sensitive there today. Maybe because Jonny's been fucking him so much the past couple of days, been paying a lot of attention to Patrick's chest once he figured out Patrick was a little tender there, like the evil asshole he is.

Jonny lifts his head. "Still tender?" he asks. He reaches up to finger Patrick's other nipple, rolling the pad of his thumb over it, and Patrick shivers.

"No thanks to you," he says, but he can't help but push himself a little more into Jonny's touch. It's a weird juxtaposition of a-little-too-sensitive and feels-shockingly-good, and his brain can't decide if it wants more or not, but his body definitely does.

Jonny just grins. "I'll be gentle," he promises, and licks over the nipple he's rubbing. The rough wet warmth of his tongue makes Patrick gasp, makes him arch his back and push himself eagerly into Jonny's mouth.

His nipples have always been sensitive, but since he's entered the third trimester, it's as if the sensitivity has been dialed up to eleven; every little touch, sometimes even the rasp of clothing against them makes them feel sore. His chest has become swollen as well; not as much as a woman's would, but enough that he has little bumps that are tender to the touch, and his nipples have grown larger and darker and stiffen much more easily. It's a good thing his maternity clothing tends to be loose-fitting across the chest, or they would look very prominent against fabric.

Dr. Liu told him it was normal, that his body's just preparing itself for the arrival and imminent nursing of the babies. Which is fine, except that Jonny's discovered just how tender and sensitive to touch they are, and has been exploiting it ruthlessly.

Patrick - okay, he can't really complain about it, not when he gets the way he is now, hard as nails, his cock leaking precome and begging for touch.

"Not out here," he manages to say. "Too hot."

Jonny pulls off his nipple with an especially hard suck, and Patrick can't stop the whimper that escapes his throat at the pain-pleasure of it. When he looks down at the swollen nubs of his chest, the nipple that Jonny was working at is big and distended and dark, gleaming with Jonny's spit. It really shouldn't be sexy. But knowing that Jonny finds it sexy - well, that's a great aphrodisiac.

"Okay," Jonny says, lifting himself out of the pool easily. His arms bulge as he does, and then he's standing, bending down to help lift Patrick carefully to his feet. Patrick knows he looks ungainly, rolling on all fours and then letting Jonny lift him up, but hell, this is the only way he can stand up now from a seated position on the ground like this.

For a moment Patrick thinks Jonny might lift him in a bridal carry - and he could do it too, easily - but he figures Jonny won't risk it by the side of the pool where it's slippery, and he's right. Jonny just kisses him and takes his hand and spanks him lightly on the side of his ass. "Let's get you into the bedroom," he says, and Patrick's only too happy to go, his nipples tingling and his cock aching.

\---

Jonny's still focusing on his chest, like he's determined to make Patrick squirm as much as he can, maybe cause him to squirm right off where he's currently balanced on Jonny's thighs with his legs splayed wide open so Jonny can reach behind him. Jonny's fingers, slippery with lube, are sliding into the cleft of his ass, gliding over his hole teasingly. 

It's okay; Patrick doesn't really need prep, not when they fucked a couple of hours ago, just needs to be slicked up again. But Jonny's still stroking over his hole, not sinking his fingers in, and with every suck on his nipples, Patrick can feel his hole involuntarily clenching on nothing, greedy for Jonny's fingers or cock or _something_ inside him.

"Come on, Jonny," he pleads, grinding his hips restlessly down, searching for Jonny's fingers. "Come _on_."

Jonny's only answer is to lick across his chest from one nipple to another, his breath warm and damp on Patrick's skin, and suck a kiss into his right nipple while he rolls the pad of his thumb over the left. 

Patrick jerks in Jonny's lap, feeling like Jonny's sent a jolt of electricity through his body via the two bright points of pleasure-pain on his chest. Fuck, they feel so tender, almost sore, but pleasantly so, as if they're full and heavy with some kind of pressure, and Jonny's mouth is teasing out that pressure, turning it into a spine-melting pleasure - 

Jonny lifts his head and licks his lips, and it takes a couple of seconds for Patrick to realise that Jonny's staring at his chest, brow furrowed.

"What?" he manages to say, breathless. The tips of Jonny's fingers have sunk into his hole, too shallow for Patrick's liking. "What is it?"

"You - " Jonny begins. He's still staring.

" _What?_ " Patrick says again, and follows Jonny's line of sight down to his nipples.

At first all he can see are the twin distended peaks of them, dark pink and swollen from Jonny's insistent mouth. Then he sees a trickle of liquid running down his chest and baby bump from one of them, and for one insane moment he thinks it's Jonny's spit, but - no, the liquid is milky white, which means - 

"Oh, fuck," Patrick says. His first instinct is to shrink away from Jonny - Jonny's fingers slip out of his hole - as he puts an arm over his chest to cover himself. 

Fuck, he's already lactating, and this is - it's not embarrassing, not exactly, not when it's for the babies' arrival, but what if Jonny hates this, or finds it gross, or something? What if Jonny never wants to touch him and his weird, gross, leaky chest ever again - 

"Hey, hey," Jonny says, and grabs hold of his wrist to tug his arm down.

"I didn't - " Patrick says helplessly. He can feel his dick begin to flag. "I didn't know this was going to happen."

"Baby," Jonny says, "it's okay." 

His eyes are soft and very dark as he stares at Patrick's chest, and it's the only reason why Patrick isn't moving to cover himself up again, even though his hands are shaking. Jonny touches the tip of his index finger to Patrick's baby bump, right where the trickle of milk ends, and slowly drags his finger up the trail of liquid, up to Patrick's nipple, where another milky drop is beading. He swipes it up, and then looks up at Patrick, and - he sucks it off his finger.

"Um," is all Patrick can say, his nipples tightening at the sight. "You can't - you don't mind?"

Jonny spreads his hands over Patrick's bump; his fingers smear the trail of milk across his skin, and for a moment Patrick's fixated on that creamy white gleam of it on his belly, before he runs his hands down Patrick's flanks to grip his hips.

"Mind?" Jonny says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Baby, this is beautiful. You're beautiful."

"I'm - " Patrick says, his throat working. He can't quite bring himself to say that he's lactating - already, god, and during sexy times at that. 

"I'm not," he finally settles for saying.

"You are," Jonny insists, and brings his mouth to Patrick's wet nipple again. Patrick jerks in his hold when he sucks, his mouth hot and hungry for it, and - oh god, his other nipple is leaking too, a thin trail of milk dripping down from it, over his chest and belly. 

"Jonny," Patrick whimpers, writhing in his husband's lap. He doesn't know _why_ , but his cock's coming back to life again, and his nipples - they feel like hot points that have been lit on fire by Jonny's mouth and fingers, like they're connected to his dick and his softly clenching hole by puppet strings. "Is it - "

Jonny pulls off his nipple and makes his way over to the other one, licking up the trickle of milk off the curve of his belly, over the swollen mound of his chest, his tongue rasping wet over the sensitive bud of the nipple. "It's sweet," he murmurs, and he looks and sounds like he's half-drunk. "You're so sweet - "

Patrick doesn't know if it's because Jonny's playing with them, but he's pretty sure his milk seems to be coming down faster, both nipples now dripping down his chest and belly, and that funny feeling of the fullness and pressure easing off in his chest combined with Jonny's mouth is - 

"Can you - fuck me?" he asks, suddenly desperate for it. His cock is trapped between the bottom of his bump and Jonny's abs, rubbing slick against their skin. "Like this? Please?"

"Fuck," Jonny says, his voice hoarse. "Yes - come up here, babe - "

He lifts Patrick to his knees, so he's kneeling up over Jonny's lap while Jonny fumbles for the bottle of lube; but the movement jostles the beads of milk trailing down his belly, and as Patrick watches, a fat drop of milk splashes down onto the head of his dick, mingling with the precome beading there.

"Oh, fuck," Jonny says, sounding completely out of his mind, and then he slides down the bed and ducks his head and licks the milk off Patrick's cock.

Patrick gasps, his thighs tensing, and he grabs Jonny's shoulders before he sways dangerously off balance. Jonny grips him by his hips to hold him steady, his fingers pressing into the meat of Patrick's ass, and sucks the head of Patrick's cock into his mouth, his tongue sliding over the sensitive underside of the crown, and Patrick closes his eyes, panting. He can hear the little whimpery sounds that are slipping out of the back of his throat, which turn into loud, choked moans when Jonny slides his hands up Patrick's body and pinches both his nipples.

"Oh god," he gasps, his entire body trembling, caught between Jonny's fingers on his nipples and mouth on his cock. His lower belly is bumping against Jonny's forehead, he's shaking so much. "Jonny - please, oh god - "

Jonny squeezes his nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, and - fuck, _fuck_ \- more milk leaks out of them, dripping over Jonny's fingers and leaking onto his bump. Patrick feels like electricity's being sent through his nipples, they're so sensitive they're almost at the point of pain - but he also feels like his dick's never been harder in his life.

"Please," he sobs, not even sure what he's begging for; all he knows is that he _needs_.

Jonny pulls off Patrick's cock and stares up at his hands on Patrick's chest, sticky with milk; he reaches down with one hand for Patrick's cock and grips it, smearing the milk over it, rubbing his palm over the head until it's sticky with precome and milk, and then he licks a long, dirty stripe down the length of Patrick's dick.

Patrick jolts, his entire body trembling, wound tight; that's just - that's so filthy that he can feel the heat blazing in his cheeks, and yet he's so hard he feels like he's about to burst, leaking from his cock and his nipples, desperately needing Jonny's fingers back on his chest and Jonny's cock in his hole.

"Fuck me," he manages to say, and grinds down desperately against Jonny's cock, which feels - just about as hard as Patrick's probably is, hard enough to pound nails through a fucking wall. Jonny's dick slips against the soft, inviting cleft of his ass, and there's nothing Patrick wants more than it inside him right the fuck now. "Please, _please_ , now - "

"Okay, okay," Jonny says breathlessly, and - fucking _finally_ \- Patrick hears the distinct snick of the lube bottle as Jonny snaps it open, hears the wet, slick sounds of Jonny slathering lube over his cock, and whimpers again - god, he needs it so badly he's going to explode if Jonny doesn't get his dick in him right now -

" _Now_ ," Jonny says, his voice rough, and when he looks up at Jonny his eyes are blown black, darker than Patrick's ever seen them. 

He grips Patrick's hip with a hand and guides him downwards to where he's holding his cock upright with his other hand, and as if the universe is just as eager for them to get this show on the road as Patrick is, his cock slips into Patrick in one smooth, perfect motion, no fumbling or slip-sliding, no false starts whatsoever; and at the same time Jonny closes his mouth over one of Patrick's nipples, his teeth scraping over it.

Patrick just - he squeezes down hard, without meaning to, and feels every inch of Jonny's wide cock prying him open without stopping, gravity dragging him down on it even as Jonny fucks upwards into him. His own cock is trapped between their bodies, slick with precome, sticky with milk, and Patrick thinks about Jonny smearing the milk onto his dick, licking it up all dirty and eager, and feels his hole convulse around Jonny's cock. He doesn't even know what kind of noises he's making anymore. His entire body feels like it's on fire, all his nerves lit up and burning bright, his nipples sore and leaking and fuck, Jonny's mouth on them is so good - 

"Shit," he chokes out. "I'm gonna come."

Jonny freezes and lifts his head. "Already?" he asks, looking shocked. He's all the way inside Patrick now, his cock deep and snug, but he's not moving yet; and still, Patrick's so close - 

Patrick fumbles to get his hand around the back of Jonny's head, pressing Jonny to his chest. "Yes," he groans. "Can you - get your mouth back on me, please - "

Jonny doesn't need telling twice. He sucks Patrick's nipple back into his mouth, hot and wet and eager and fuck, it's so _good_ , that combination of oversensitivity and roiling pleasure building too quick and too much for his brain to parse apart; and then Patrick's mind goes blank in the tidal wave of his orgasm, which slams into him with a suddenness that makes his body feel like he's breaking into atoms.

He comes with a yell, his fingers digging into Jonny's shoulders, but all he can feel is his dick pulsing and his hole clutching at Jonny's fat cock filling it up and his nipples, two bright points of intense, mind-numbing pleasure, like a dam's been lifted behind them and his orgasm's bursting out of them too and -

"Fuck," he hears Jonny gasp, dim through the blood rushing in his ears, and then Jonny grabs his hips and slams upwards into him, two, three, four times; Patrick's cock slips between their bellies, smearing his come all over his bump, and Jonny comes with a low, long groan.

Patrick's shivering and panting when he feels Jonny's arms go around him, and he lets himself slump against Jonny as best as he can with his bump in the way. Jonny's still hard and still inside him, and Patrick wants to keep him in there as long as he can. 

"God," Jonny sighs, and Patrick manages to blink his eyes open.

Fuck, they're an absolutely filthy mess. There's milk all over his chest, all over his bump, dripping down onto Jonny's body; there's come all over both of them, mingling with the milk, painting both Jonny's and Patrick's skin a creamy white. There's milk smeared across Jonny's chin, even some on his cheek, and - god, this was - probably not what Jonny had signed up for on this vacation, even as insanely hot as the sex was.

"Shit," he says. "We're so - I got you all dirty."

Jonny's eyes are bleary with pleasure, his chest heaving. But he reaches up and runs his thumb through the mess on Patrick's baby bump, cutting a track through the come and milk on it, like he - 

"I like it," he says, looking up at Patrick. "That was - you are so amazing, baby. So gorgeous. Absolutely perfect."

Patrick licks his lips. "No," he says. "I'm - we're all dirty."

"I love it," Jonny repeats, and kisses him on the top of his bump, right where the worst of the mess is, and in the middle of his chest, and on one leaky nipple; Patrick jumps, because it's so fucking tender right now, holy shit. "Don't - don't feel bad or anything. Your body is - it's amazing."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Patrick says, still a little breathless. He shifts his weight a little, and exhales at the feel of Jonny's cock inside him; he's getting a little sore and sensitive there now that he's come and everything is over, but he'll be damned if he lets it slip out of him now.

"I do know," Jonny insists. He cups Patrick's cheek, and god, his hand's sticky, but Patrick - he lets Jonny do it. They might as well be filthy together if Jonny doesn't mind it, he thinks. "You are - you're going to be such a good mom. Your body's just getting ready for the babies. And you shouldn't - it's nothing to be embarrassed about, it's nothing _bad_ , you're beautiful."

Somewhere deep in Patrick's chest, he feels himself relax, like a spool of thread slowly unwinding loose.

"Really?" he asks. "You don't - mind? That I'm all leaky and messy and - "

Jonny barks out a laugh. "I just came my fucking brains out, and if I could I'd keep you on my cock and play with your nipples until you come another ten times, and I don't care if you soak this whole bed in milk. It was - that was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen. Just seeing you like this, knowing you're so ready for our babies."

Patrick swallows. "Maybe - maybe we could try that," he says boldly. His nipples are sore and tingling, but he's lying if he says he doesn't want more of that, more of Jonny's fingers and tongue and mouth teasing the sore fullness of the milk out of them. "We have two more days here."

Jonny's smile is sharp and dirty. "Hell, yeah," he says.


	9. part nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally an update!!! holy crap, i'm sorry I took forever. this would not have happened without my beautiful betas heartstrings and trademarkgiggle, which I am supremely thankful for, especially since trademarkgiggle betaed this chapter while she was ill :( thank you my dudes and you're the best ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Patrick has his 32-week checkup and scan a couple of weeks after they're back from Utah, coincidentally on Valentine's Day; Jonny's in Nashville for the day, and then on to St. Louis before coming home to Chicago, so Patrick goes it alone, feeling sorry for himself. 

It occurs to him while he's pacing restlessly at home getting ready to go out for the checkup that he hasn't actually spent Valentine's Day on his own since he broke into the NHL. There were a couple of years here and there when he was dating other people like Gavin; but in the other years, his single years, or even just those times when he wasn't single but had games to play on this day - there was always Jonny. It's weird to spend a Valentine's Day without Jonny around, especially when he has to go for a baby scan.

It goes fine except that Dr. Liu comments on his blood pressure being a little higher than normal, but apparently it's not high enough to cause any concern for now, so Patrick figures there's no point worrying about it until his next appointment.

He's not expecting the call from Dr. Liu the next day - she doesn't call him usually, just emails him the results of his blood tests once she gets them from the lab with a brief explanation and any instructions - and when he sees her clinic's number on his phone a prickle of dread runs down his spine. There's a sudden, sinking feeling in his chest as he fumbles to answer the call.

"Hello?" he says, trying to keep his breathing steady. He can feel the babies moving; they're very active in the daytime, stretching in his belly, rolling and kicking, and he puts a hand on his bump, willing himself to be calm. If they weren't fine, they wouldn't be moving, right? Maybe it's nothing bad; maybe she's just calling for some other thing - 

"Hello, is this Patrick?" Dr. Liu says. "This is Dr. Liu."

"Yes," Patrick says. "Hi, doctor."

"Hi," Dr. Liu says. Patrick tries to figure out how she sounds; she doesn't sound _bad_ , or worried, or anything like that, or at least Patrick hopes she isn't. "Do you have a few minutes to speak? I just got your bloodwork back from the lab, and there are a few things I think I need to talk to you about."

"Yeah, of course," Patrick says. She does sound fairly normal, but _fuck_ , he's scared. There's a creeping fear that's suffusing his chest slowly, and he looks down at his bump with his hand resting on it and his wedding ring glinting. He swallows. "Is it - are the babies okay?"

"Yes, they're fine," Dr. Liu says, and Patrick - he lets out a long exhale, relief washing over him. "It's you I'm a little concerned about now, actually."

"Me?"

"It's not too serious yet, but your blood sugar levels are on the high side, and that coupled with your blood pressure reading yesterday could be a problem. Are you still eating a lot of sugary foods? I remember we discussed your diet a few months back when you just started your second trimester, and you did mention you were specifically having maple syrup cravings."

Patrick's brain immediately flashes to the bottles of maple syrup regularly shipped to him from Canada - it's a craving he can't seem to get over, even though everything he's read tells him pregnancy cravings usually subside in the third trimester. There are still bottles in the pantry, there's ice cream in the freezer - there are, well, lots of foods around that are geared to Patrick's weird need for sweet stuff during this pregnancy.

"Um, I - kind of, I guess," Patrick admits. "I thought the cravings would die down, but they don't seem to have, and I guess I didn't even really notice that. Maybe I've been, uh, eating more of it than I thought. Or maybe my palate just got used to lots of sugar."

"Yeah, seems like it," Dr. Liu says. "You're going to need to cut down on sugar - definitely no more maple syrup for you. At this stage in your pregnancy, you could easily develop gestational diabetes, and _that's_ going to cause some problems."

"Like - what sort of problems?"

"Well, it could trigger premature birth, for one. And like we've discussed, with male carriers, we want your babies to at least get to 38 weeks, and preferably past 40 weeks, for a safe delivery and fewer risks of health complications. And on top of that, it could make your babies grow too large in the womb, and that leads to additional risks during the remainder of your pregnancy, even during your C-section; problems with their bone development, higher risks of both you and them developing Type 2 diabetes in the future - "

Well, crap. That - does not sound good. Fuck, Patrick's - maybe taken his pregnancy for granted all these months. He's been lucky to have had a smooth, easy pregnancy, and he definitely wasn't thinking about complications when he was downing maple syrup by the bottle. Faced with either the risks laid out for him or stuffing his face with sugar - it's an easy choice to make, especially when there are just a couple of months to go before the babies are born.

"Should I cut out _all_ sugar from my diet?" he asks. It's not exactly difficult - he's used to restrictive diets as an athlete, and while he was playing he did minimise the amount of processed sugar he ate, but he's definitely been enjoying the perks of having basically no food restrictions while he's pregnant.

"Not exactly - we know that's really difficult, there's sugar in almost everything, even in vegetables, but you can definitely do yourself a favour by skipping desserts, sweet snacks, chocolates, things like that. Cut down on carbs and starch."

Patrick sighs. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Great," Dr. Liu says. "Let's try that, and we'll check your sugar levels again the next time I see you on - I think we fixed it for March 3rd, right?"

"Yep," Patrick says. 

"Be good," Dr. Liu says, and Patrick can hear the smile in her voice. "I'll see you then - take care, Patrick."

"Thanks, doc," Patrick says, and hangs up. 

He's grateful it wasn't anything _bad_ , at least not yet; but he pats his bump, and shivers a little. If he'd kept going - it could have been bad, and he'd never forgive himself if something happened to the babies.

He wanders into the kitchen and looks at the bottles of maple syrup in the pantry cupboard, lined up neatly; he counts them, and there aren't that many, just seven bottles. He shuts the cupboard doors, and sighs again. He'll have to ask Jonny to clear them out when he's back from his road trip, give them to their teammates. He probably should clear out the PB&J spreads, the jar of Nutella, the tubs of ice cream and yoghurt as well.

In the end, he sets a reminder to himself to make a list of all the sweet stuff in the fridge and pantry that he can definitely give away or throw out; he'll wait for Jonny to come back and help him with it, because knowing Jonny and how he'll react, Jonny will go through every last jar and can in their home with a fine-toothed comb and remove everything he thinks has too much sugar for Patrick.

\---

As February melts away into March, Patrick feels pretty positive about the month ahead; the Blackhawks are sitting pretty in the first wild card spot, and even though Dallas and Vancouver are breathing down their necks, Jonny already has 78 points and Patrick's definitely seen some talk about him getting his second Selke nomination this season.

He also passes his 34-week checkup without major incident; his blood sugar levels haven't dropped as much as Dr. Liu would like, but there is a slight dip, and she encourages him to carry on with limiting his sugar intake as much as he can. His blood pressure remains elevated, but the babies are healthy and active and their growth is right on track - in fact, they're probably bigger than twins should be at this stage, something that seems to baffle Dr. Liu, given that she's tracking his diet now and the team nutritionists are being extra cautious about sugar content in the meal plans they're drawing up for him. Patrick doesn't know how to tell her that it's probably because the twins are going to take after their father in height and frame, and just have the bad luck to be housed in his comparatively smaller body. But the important thing is that she doesn't think they'll grow big enough to cause complications for the rest of his pregnancy or his C-section, as long as he keeps watching his diet carefully.

In any case, the babies are definitely big - his bump is enormous now, and maybe he still felt sexy at 30 weeks, but at 34 weeks with his belly hugely distended, his chest, feet and ankles swollen, his face puffy, and how he often gets out of breath because the babies are pushing up against his lungs; well, he's no longer feeling particularly like he's hot shit. Patrick can't even have sex comfortably now except when he's on his side with a pillow shoved under his heavy belly for support, with Jonny spooned up behind him and rocking into him, his big hands splayed open on Patrick's bump. But he's not complaining; the fact that Jonny's still agreeable to having sex with him at all when he's this big and swollen is, quite frankly, a miracle.

There's still that small - very small matter - of how, after the babies arrive, Jonny and he are going to have to discuss their divorce. And, well, maybe every time he's reminded of it, it hits him like a slug right in his chest, which means he does the mature thing and just - locks it away deep down and chooses not to think about it at all, but there's always this part of him that dreads that day when Jonny decides this charade's gone on long enough and sits him down to tell him they need to talk about it.

He doesn't want to think about that. He just wants to enjoy the next few months, these precious remaining moments he can snatch with Jonny still being his husband and them still living together as a family, before it all blows up.

The point is - he's still fairly comfortable during the pregnancy, even with all of this going on. The babies are coming in less than a month, the nursery's ready, the condo is stocked floor to ceiling with every conceivable item he or the babies could possibly require: from clothing to steam sterilizers and a backup for his backup chest pump; diapers, both disposable and reusable, because Jonny's all about sustainability; bottles, pacifiers, and teething toys. They even bought an additional washer and dryer, just for the babies' clothing and diapers. Patrick's feeling prepared, confident, and excited.

So of course this is the time when his luck runs out.

\---

It first happens on a day Jonny's in Minnesota; the good thing is that it's the only away game that week so he's only gone for the day and back the same night, but Patrick wakes in the morning after Jonny's left, heaves himself out of bed with some difficulty, and is immediately hit with a sudden wave of dizziness so strong that he has to sit right back down.

He shuts his eyes, trying to stop the room spinning around him. When he tries to open his eyes again, there are actual black spots dancing in front of them. What the hell?

The dizzy spell gets so bad that he starts feeling nauseous, and that's something he hasn't felt since he passed his first trimester, so for this to be happening at this time is - alarming. He makes himself lie back down on the bed, eyes closed, willing the spinning to stop.

The dizziness goes away finally after about fifteen minutes of Patrick lying as still as possible in bed. He sits up again, cautiously, but it doesn't come back. The only lingering remnant of it is the breathlessness he feels, but that's been happening frequently since the babies got uncomfortably large. There's not much room in there for them to move anymore, except upwards against his lungs.

That was - weird. Maybe he just needs to eat something.

He makes a spinach and ham omelette as quickly as he can - those online classes he took at the Chopping Board have definitely been worth their weight in gold - and then scarfs it down. But the dizziness doesn't come back, and neither does the nausea, so when Jonny calls him later that afternoon, he decides to not mention it, because it's probably nothing and the last thing he needs is Jonny freaking out right before a game.

\---

It happens again about a week later, and this time Jonny's home so there's nothing Patrick can do to hide it. It comes on him as suddenly as it did the first time, and he isn't even moving, just curled up on the couch with Jonny watching the Flyers play the Pens on NBC. He's watching Giroux steal the puck from Malkin one moment, and the next thing he knows is that the room is starting to spin around him. Slowly at first, but then it worsens, until there are black spots dancing in front of his eyes and he's swallowing back nausea.

He shuts his eyes and turns towards Jonny, leaning into him, and presses his forehead against Jonny's bicep, willing the dizziness to stop. His heart is pounding - whether from fear or from _this_ , whatever itthis is - and he's finding it hard to breathe again, except he's not even moving and there's no reason for it.

"You okay?" he hears Jonny ask. Fuck. He pushes his face harder against Jonny's arm, keeping his mouth resolutely shut so he won't start puking. Even in the blackness of his vision as he keeps his eyes closed, he can feel the sickly sensation of the world spinning round and round, taste the sourness at the back of his throat as his dinner threatens to come back up.

"Patrick?" Jonny says. He sounds - worried. Patrick needs to reassure him that he's fine, but he's afraid to open his mouth in case he does throw up all over Jonny. His heart feels like it's going a million miles an hour, pumping rabbit-fast in his chest, and his lungs feel heavy, like he's just skated a bag skate - with the babies - and can't suck in enough air.

"Fuck," Jonny says; and then he's cupping Patrick's face, lifting it up and off his shoulder - Patrick keeps his eyes resolutely shut. "Holy shit - baby, what's wrong? Say something, please - fuck, why are you - "

Patrick swallows the acrid taste of his acid reflux. "'M okay," he manages. "Just dizzy. Need to just - "

He feels Jonny immediately tuck his face against his chest, where he can burrow gratefully into it, breathe in Jonny's clean soap scent. Jonny runs a hand down his back, calm and slow, and it doesn't really help the dizziness or nausea, but it helps Patrick's state of mind at least. He reminds himself to breathe slow, following the motions of Jonny's hand as it strokes down his back over and over, and it takes a few minutes, but eventually his heartbeat evens out to a more normal rate and the dizziness eases off.

"Damn," he says weakly, and feels Jonny tense up right away. "I'm okay - I'm fine." He lifts his head from Jonny's chest and blinks his eyes open, and what he sees on Jonny's face makes him draw up. Jonny's pale under his tan - still tan from Utah - and his eyes are huge and _scared_. Patrick's never seen Jonny look scared before. He'd never even thought there was anything that could scare Jonny. Apparently there is.

"What the hell happened there?" Jonny asks. He still has an arm around Patrick, but when Patrick drops his eyes, Jonny's other hand is balled into a fist on his thigh. His knuckles are white.

"I - don't know," Patrick says. "Just started feeling dizzy for no reason. And a little sick, like I wanted to puke, but I think that was down to the dizziness. Jonny - "

"You scared the hell out of me," Jonny says. "Your face - you were pale, even your _lips_ , and you couldn't speak - I thought you couldn't _breathe_."

"I was fine," Patrick insists. "I didn't want to open my mouth and talk, in case I threw up."

"What's happening?" Jonny says. He sits straight up and gently pushes Patrick into an upright position, holding him at arms' length, looking up and down his body like he can see whatever's making Patrick dizzy. He cups Patrick's bump, rubs it, like he wants to reassure himself the babies are fine. "Did you eat something wrong?"

"No, I don't think so - I didn't eat anything funny the last time, and it went away quick too," Patrick says without thinking. 

He knows he's made a mistake when Jonny's brows draw down in a frown. "The last time - what, you mean this has happened before?"

"Only once," Patrick says defensively. "And like I said, it went away fast, and I felt fine after, so -" 

"What happens?" Jonny asks. Fuck, he's insistent. "When this happens - what do you feel?"

Ugh, this was what Patrick didn't want, Jonny freaking out. He has to leave tomorrow for another road trip - a pretty long one this time, five days, and it's the last thing he needs, to be worried that Patrick's dying or some shit, when he's pretty sure he's not.

"Just, you know, dizzy," he says hesitantly. Jonny's eyes are fixed on his face like a laser beam. "Like I'm about to pass out and throw up. But I lie down and then it gets better."

"What else?"

"I don't know, I feel a little breathless sometimes and my heart starts pounding - but I mean, I really think it's just because of the dizziness, you know? It's probably just some weird pregnancy thing because the babies are getting too big and cramping my lungs, or something."

"Did you call Dr. Liu to ask?" Jonny says.

"No - I mean, it's not really serious - "

"Baby," Jonny says; and the way his voice sounds here - he's using his captain voice, the one that Patrick's conditioned to sit up and listen to in the locker room and on the ice, the one that brooks no argument, not even from Patrick. He never uses this voice at home. "Listen to me. I know I'm going out of town tomorrow, but call Dr. Liu in the morning and go see her. Get yourself checked, and then tell me how it goes."

"I just saw her like, two weeks ago, and I was fine," Patrick argues weakly.

"No, you weren't," Jonny says, and his face is deadly serious. "She said your blood pressure was a little too high. She said the babies were a little too big. And you said it yourself - if they get too big they could impact your organs. _Call her_ and get checked. Even if it's nothing - you still want to know it's really nothing."

Patrick swallows. "I guess you're right," he says.

"Promise me, Patrick. This is important."

"Okay, I promise," Patrick says. " _And_ I'll call you after the checkup to let you know how it goes, so I can prove that it really is probably nothing."

"Good," Jonny says. "That's exactly what I want." 

He tucks Patrick against his side again, his hand resuming its slow stroking over his spine, and Patrick feels one of the babies stretch in his belly, his little feet pushing out against it. He bites his lip. Of course the babies are fine. Of course they'll be.

\---

Patrick calls Dr. Liu the next morning when Jonny's left for the airport - it's pretty bad timing, actually, because the Blackhawks will be away for five days in Montreal, Ottawa, and Toronto before Jonny can come home - and the moment she listens to him describe what's been going on, she tells him to come into her office right away and to take a cab instead of driving himself. That - doesn't really help to calm his nerves.

She's serious-faced when she sees him, checks his temperature and blood pressure, draws three tubes of blood for testing, and takes a urine sample as well. Patrick holds his breath when she scans the babies; but Dr. Liu says they look fine on the ultrasound, and he lets himself breathe.

Then she asks him a laundry list of questions, making notes in her computer as she goes along. Finally she pushes back in her chair and fixes him with a neutral gaze that - Patrick can't quite tell what she's thinking. Is it going to be bad?

"Is it bad?" he blurts out.

Dr. Liu keeps her face very, very neutral. But she's not - smiling, like she usually is, and right away Patrick just _knows_ he's not going to like what he'll hear next. A creeping, cold dread is starting to crawl its way down his spine, its tendrils reaching through his body to his extremities, chilling his fingertips; he thumbs at his wedding ring restlessly and waits.

"First things first," Dr. Liu says. "When I saw you two weeks ago, your blood pressure was a little elevated, but it wasn't too bad at that point. But today, it's pretty high. It's definitely something to be concerned about."

Okay, Patrick thinks. _Fuck._

"Given that, and all the other symptoms you described - dizziness, nausea, breathlessness, heart palpitations, and the swelling in your feet and face - I'd say you're at high risk of developing pre-eclampsia, if you haven't yet."

Pre-eclampsia. Patrick's heard of that, he knows what it is. He came across it in some of the baby sites he likes to browse, and when he first started displaying an elevated blood pressure, Dr. Liu had explained it to him.

"I'll be sending your blood and urine samples to our lab today - they'll check for protein in your urine, because if there is any, it could indicate additional kidney problems. We'll check your platelets to see if their levels are low, and we'll look at your liver function too. All of these are possible complications resulting from pre-eclampsia, and if you have any of these problems, we're going to deal with them accordingly. Okay?"

"Okay," Patrick says. His lips feel numb. "The babies - "

"They look fine, from what I could see on the ultrasound," Dr. Liu says. "It's a good thing, because pre-eclampsia can affect blood flow to the placenta and lead to inadequate oxygen and blood supply for the babies. They already share a placenta and all their nutrients - it's really not great for twins if this does happen." 

"Okay," Patrick says again. He can't seem to say anything else. Or move. Or breathe.

"Pre-eclampsia can cause preterm births, and as much as possible we want to keep them in until you get past 38 weeks, so we can be sure their lungs are fully developed. And on top of that, we really have to ensure you are okay, that your organs continue to function normally, and that you're comfortable."

Patrick swallows. Fuck. If only Jonny were here. He doesn't - he's not sure how to process all of this without Jonny's steady, reassuring presence.

"Is there anything you can do?" he finally manages to ask.

"Yes, of course," Dr. Liu says, and for the first time all day he sees a glimpse of a small smile. Just a glimpse, but it helps. A little. "I'm going to prescribe you a couple of medications for the blood pressure because we need to keep it down, and some low doses of aspirin; that helps to control pre-eclampsia. And some calcium pills, because calcium helps too. And I think it would be a good idea if you go on bed rest at home from now until it's time for your C-section."

"Bed rest?" Patrick asks, uncomprehending. "You mean - I can't get out of bed? Or walk around?" He can't even - does he have to pee in a bedpan? 

"Of course you can - just keep your level of physical exertion or stress to a minimum, and I want you in bed and resting most of the day. You can get out of bed obviously, and move around your home if you have to, but try not to go outdoors or do anything strenuous. Have your food and necessities delivered or have someone around to help you at all times. In fact, if you already don't, I'd suggest you do have someone stay with you all the time - just in case if anything gets worse or flares up, you'll have a person around who can get you help. Is there anyone who can?"

Patrick bites his lip. The fingers of his right hand find their way to his ring, and he begins twisting it, round and round. It's tighter now, because his fingers are swollen. "I mean, there's Jonny," he says. "But - he's away a lot, because - you know, hockey."

Dr. Liu nods. "Then perhaps a family member could assist."

Patrick doesn't think so. His sisters have jobs, Jackie's still in college. Maybe Andree? But - she's not his mom, she shouldn't have to do this for him - 

"I'll call you tomorrow with your test results," Dr. Liu's saying, "and I know this has been hard to hear, but hopefully your bloodwork comes back fine, and we have something less to worry about. For now though, you should get home and stay in bed as much as you can."

"Okay," Patrick says again. "Thank you."

\---

The ride home is a blur; Patrick's not quite sure how he navigated his way down to the pavement, called a Lyft, and made his way up to his condo without tripping over something or losing his wallet, or whatever. But he makes it home, and after he's stripped off and showered, he climbs into bed, feeling this - strange combination of numb and terrified. He can't ever remember feeling like this before.

The only thing that's making him feel even a tiny bit better is the babies' constant movements in his belly, their little kicks and punches and stretches from within. As long as the babies are moving, they're okay. They have to be okay.

His hand hovers over his phone. He should call Jonny and tell him. Maybe he'll ask Jonny if he can call Andree. Jonny wouldn't mind that, he knows that - 

"Hello?" his mother's voice says, soft and tinny and faraway, and he jolts. "Patrick?"

He blinks down at his phone and realises - he's dialled his own mother's number. He didn't even realise it, but - 

"Patrick? Are you there?" his mother says again. She sounds very soft, because he's holding the phone away from his ear, and she's not on speaker, but - somehow he's called her, and. Maybe his brain thought this was the right thing to do after all.

"Hey, mom," he says, tapping the speaker button on. He knows he sounds like he's on the verge of tears.

"Patrick," his mom says, and she sounds the same as he does, and Patrick - he can't help it, he starts to cry, tears rolling down his cheeks, his breath coming in little choked sobs. 

He tells her everything - about his blood pressure, the pre-eclampsia, the complications, the babies being too big, the pre-diabetes - tumbling over his own words, trying to breathe the whole time. Dr. Liu had told him not to get stressed out, and he's _trying_ , he really fucking is, but when he thinks about how his babies could be in any kind of danger - 

"And my doctor said, it'd be good if I had someone staying with me all the time, to monitor me and everything, in case - in case anything happens, and you know Jonny, the season's still ongoing, he's away a lot - "

"I'll fly out right now," his mother says immediately. 

Patrick's not really expecting that. She didn't even come to him for Christmas. She'd tried calling him a few times after the holidays, and to be fair to her he'd never picked up, but then she stopped trying to even call. Why would she fly out now?

"You don't have to," he says. "Dad - he won't let you."

"You know what, Patrick?" his mom asks. "To hell with what he wants. I listened to him then - and I never should have. And now you need me, so I'm coming now, and that's it."

"Mom," he says hesitantly.

"I'm going to ask Erica to book me a ticket on the next flight," she says. "Sit tight, honey. I promise I'll be there. Stay in bed and I will be _right there_."

There's a part - a very big part of Patrick - that believes it isn't going to happen, that his mom's going to pull out of this or his dad's going to ruin it again - but he's so tired, and so desperate to grasp at any little shred of hope there is, that he agrees. "Okay," he says dully.

"I promise," his mom tells him again. 

\---

He doesn't quite believe it still, but when Erica texts him a copy of their mom's flight booking - she really is taking the first flight out she can get, which means she'll reach Chicago in a little over five hours - he feels like he can _breathe_ for the first time all day. He still has no idea why he called his mom over Jonny or Andree, but - it definitely makes him feel a little better, knowing that she's on her way and that he's not going to be alone.

His next call is - a little harder to make. Not that Jonny's hard to talk to, obviously, but he just _knows_ that Jonny's going to freak out and probably decide to leave the team in Montreal and come home, and it's going to stress Patrick out more; but he has to tell Jonny, and despite everything he just - desperately needs to hear Jonny's voice.

It's just a little after 2 PM in Montreal, which means Jonny's just finished morning skate and lunch, and he picks up almost immediately when Patrick calls. 

"Are you okay?" is the first thing Jonny says, and Patrick feels a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in his throat. Jesus. He might have pre-eclampsia and he's this close to possibly losing his babies and there's no fucking way he's going to be okay until he manages to make it to April 8th and they're out of him healthy and well.

"No," Patrick says, and right away he starts to choke up. Fuck.

"Tell me," Jonny demands, and in those two words Patrick can hear how tightly wound up Jonny is, like a coiled spring that's ready to break. That's exactly how Patrick feels.

He tells Jonny everything Dr. Liu had gone through with him, and at the end of it, just like he'd expected, Jonny says, "Okay, sit tight, babe. I'm going to talk to Q and tell him to scratch me for the rest of the road trip and I'm coming home right away."

"No - " Patrick begins.

"No buts. I'm coming home now."

"No, I mean, you don't have to - "

"What do you _mean_ I don't have to? You're all alone, and you're my - " Jonny stops.

 _Your what?_ Patrick wants to ask.

"Look," Jonny says after a pause, "you need me, and they're my babies too. I'm coming back to be with you. End of story."

"You really don't have to because - "

"For god's sake, Patrick, stop telling me I don't have - "

"Jesus," Patrick snaps. "Will you just let me finish?" He forces himself to slow down his breathing, take long, deep, deliberate breaths like he learned in prenatal yoga. He's not going to get stressed - he can't. And - of course Jonny's concerned about the babies. That's all. They're his too, like he said.

He's not sure why he's feeling so bitter about this; he always knew they had to come to an end, after all. What's paramount now is making sure the babies are going to be okay.

Jonny goes quiet, so Patrick takes another slow breath and says, "I just meant it'll be okay, because - I called my mom. She's coming out to Chicago right now. I'm not going to be on my own here."

There's a long pause before Jonny speaks again. "Did you guys - you made up with her?"

"I don't really know," Patrick says wearily. "Not really. I don't even - I mean, I didn’t even plan to call her, but it just - kind of happened. I wasn't thinking. But she said she wanted to be here, and you can't come back - no, please, don't argue, you have to stay with the team - and I said okay."

Another pause, then: "I don't feel good about this, Patrick," Jonny says. "I want to come home. I need to make sure you're okay."

"Listen, even if you get yourself scratched and come back now - how long can you stay? A few days before you're off on the next road trip? You can't just miss every single game away from home. The team needs you - "

" _You_ need me," Jonny says, sounding low and almost furious now. 

"My mom will be here - I'm not going to be alone," Patrick says.

"I don't - you know I don't really trust her, right?" Jonny asks. "Not after Christmas."

Patrick has a memory flash of Jonny in the kitchen with Bryan and Andree, angrily telling them how he's not going to leave Patrick, and his head throbs. Fuck. This is all too confusing. There's just - way too much for his brain to try to parse.

But the thought of Andree reminds him that he'd wanted to ask Jonny if he could call her, and it gives him an idea. "How about this - if my mom doesn't turn up, or if things get bad, I'll call your mom and ask her to come."

" _Yes_ ," Jonny says immediately. "You should - you can call her now. She can fly out too."

"If things don't go well with my mom, I promise I'll call her then," Patrick says. "But - not now. Maybe just - give my mom a chance."

Jonny's quiet for a while; then he lets out a rattling sigh. "You know - I fucking hate it," he says. "I hate that you have to have a backup plan for your own mom. This - it's not right."

Patrick swallows. "I know." 

"And I fucking hate that you're telling me not to come home now. I need to see you. I need to see for myself that you're going to be okay."

"I know," Patrick says again; and maybe it's because he's already feeling vulnerable and ripped open inside, but he finds himself saying, "Jonny - I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared."

"Fuck," Jonny says. "I _have_ to come home."

"No," Patrick says, scrubbing his hand down his face. God, this is a mess. "I didn't say that because I thought you had to come back now - my mom is on her way, I'll be okay - but I'm just. Scared. I had to say it. Please don't leave the team."

"You want me to - what, go out and play hockey? Knowing you're at home and upset and afraid? You expect me to leave you alone like this?"

"Only because my mom's going to be here," Patrick says. "If she wasn't then - yes, I'd want you home now - but I'm not going to be alone, and I'll feel better once she's here."

There's an audible inhale and exhale from Jonny, like he's trying to get himself under control. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. The moment your mom is there, you text me. If she doesn't turn up when she's supposed to, you text me, and you call my mother right away, and I am getting myself on the next flight back even if I have to charter one. You got that?"

"Yes," Patrick says.

"The Ottawa game tomorrow is an afternoon game, so after that I'm flying back. The team can go on to Toronto without me, but I have to get home to you."

Patrick opens his mouth to protest on instinct; and then he finds that he doesn't really have the energy to argue anymore. He _is_ fucking terrified. He feels like shit. He needs his husband - even if Jonny's a fake husband - with him no matter what he's told Jonny, and he needs him despite having his mother on her way.

"Okay," he says, and that one word feels like there's a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. His mother's coming. Jonny's heading home tomorrow. 

Now all he has to do is stay in bed and make it to April 8th.

\---

When the doorbell rings and Patrick opens the door to his mom standing there, his first feeling is of overwhelming relief. But as she steps into the entryway and the bright lights spilling from the living room, the strain on her face is clear as day; her eyes are dark and shadowed and there are deep worry lines spiralling from the corners of her mouth and eyes.

"Oh, baby," she says, and gathers him into a hug. It's awkward, because his bump is enormous now and her arms can't quite go all the way around him, but he finds himself sinking into the hug nonetheless, his fingers digging into the heavy fabric of her coat.

"Hey, mom," he manages to say, his voice thick.

His mom peels away from him and holds him at arm's length, looking him up and down. Her eyes are watery when she looks at him, but she's smiling. "Look at you," she says; and then she draws him in for another hug. "Patrick - I've missed you."

"Me too," Patrick says. He doesn't want to cry, but - 

"I'm so sorry, honey," his mom says quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm here now."

"Yeah," Patrick says, and right on cue, he starts tearing up, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

His mom pulls away again and looks up at him; she tugs her gloves off and wipes at his tears with her thumbs, her hands shaking. 

"Have you eaten anything today?" she asks. "Are you hungry? I can make you something."

Typical mom move, Patrick thinks. Home-cooked food, the universal panacea, magically making everything better. As if on cue, his stomach rumbles, and he remembers he hasn't eaten since before he saw Dr. Liu that morning. Before he found out how close he is to losing his babies. 

"Yeah, I could eat something," he says.

The fridge and pantry are well-stocked, but he doesn't even get the chance to show his mom what's available before she makes him go back to his bedroom and stay in bed. "Bed rest means bed rest," she tells him firmly. "I'll bring you your food when it's done - it won't take long."

"I'm not an invalid," Patrick says; but he allows himself to be chivvied into bed while his mother fusses around him, helping him sit up against the headboard and making sure his pillows are fluffed up behind him, fetching him an extra sweater in case he gets cold. She finds the remote for the TV in the bedroom and puts it next to him on the bed.

"You're not, but I'm going to look after you properly and make sure you don't exert yourself," she says before she leaves the room. A minute later Patrick hears, faintly from the kitchen, the clanking of pots and pans.

Just knowing that his mother's out there, in the same place he is - it helps. He pats his bump, feeling the reassuring minute shifts of his babies inside as they stretch and jostle for space, and turns on the TV to the Blackhawks game.

They're down 2-0, which is - salvageable, but Patrick still doesn't like it. He checks the game stats quickly; Jonny's a -2 and has taken three penalties already, and it's only the middle of the second period. 

Fuck. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut and let Jonny finish out the road trip before he said anything. 

He sits numbly through the rest of the period and the intermission - they interview Hossa, so he can't even see how Jonny is. Jonny's almost always a consummate professional on camera, but Patrick wants to be able to see him, try to figure out from the set of his mouth or the look in his eyes if he's okay.

His mom comes in towards the end of the third; Jonny's taken his fourth penalty of the game in the meantime, Montreal's scored on the ensuing power play, Panarin has pulled one back for the Blackhawks, but the clock's running down and Patrick knows it's too little, too late. He also knows Jonny is definitely not okay; each time the camera focuses on him, his face is grim, his expression dark. Jonny's heart isn't in the game at all, and it just - sucks, that Patrick was the one who did this to him.

"How's it going?" his mom asks, looking towards the TV as she carefully sets a tray down on the nightstand. The smells emanating from it make Patrick's stomach growl and remind him that he hasn't eaten all day. He still doesn't feel like eating, but - he needs to, for the babies. And the food smelling so good doesn't hurt.

"Not great," he says, biting his lip. "Jonny took four penalties this game."

"He must be worried about you," she says quietly.

Patrick hisses out a breath through his teeth. "This is exactly what I didn't want."

His mother reaches out like she wants to run her hand through his hair; but she hesitates, like she's not sure if Patrick wants her to touch him. Patrick stays still and doesn't react, and eventually he feels his mother's hand on his head, gently smoothing his curls down. He tries not to lean into her touch; he probably looks pathetic enough already, but he doesn't pull away either.

"You should eat," she says. "I made you tomato soup and grilled cheese - just something quick and simple, but I know you like it."

Patrick looks up at her and smiles for the first time all day. "Thanks, mom," he says. 

She smiles back, a little tremulous, but there's relief in her eyes. "Don't worry about Jonny. He's just - you know he's concerned about you, and he should be."

"I just think maybe - I shouldn't have told him what's going on. Waited till he finished out the road trip."

"No," his mother says firmly, and there's a hint of the old steel back in her voice. Patrick prefers this, definitely, to this hesitant, uncertain woman standing next to him. "Jonny's your _husband_ , he's the father of your twins; of course he needs to know if you or they are in - any sort of trouble."

Patrick doesn't miss the way she chokes up a little on the last word. Fuck. His mom is really freaked out about him. 

He swallows and turns towards the tray for something else to do, lifting it off the nightstand and balancing it carefully on his thighs, his legs outstretched. There's a large mug of steaming tomato soup on it, and a plate with two grilled cheese sandwiches, golden-brown and oozing with cheese. It looks and smells amazing, and this was one of Patrick's favourite meals growing up, because his mom makes the best tomato soup from scratch. "Aren't you eating?" he asks her.

"Mine's outside," she says, inching towards the door. "Just call out for me if you need something, okay?"

"No - mom," he says, looking up at her. "Could you maybe - bring your food in here? Stay with me?" He nods at the desk in the corner of the room. "If you wouldn't mind bringing in another chair from the dining room - we can both eat at the desk."

His mom beams at him, and it's like sunshine breaking out from behind a dark cloud. "Yes, of course," she says, taking the tray from him and bringing it over to the desk, before coming back and helping him to carefully swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Come on, let's get you over there."

"Please, I can still get out of bed on my own," he says, half-laughing, but his mother shakes her head.

"What if you get another dizzy spell and it makes you fall over?" she asks, guiding him to the desk and watching as he settles himself into the chair there. "Hang on, I'll put your phone here, Jonny might call - I'll go get everything else."

Right on cue, Patrick's phone rings just as his mother's going out of the room. "Good foresight!" he calls at her retreating back, and picks it up - but the name on the screen is Erica, not Jonny.

Crap, he'd completely forgotten to call or even text her when their mom got here. "Hey," he says when he answers.

"Hey, is mom there yet?" Erica asks. "I've been texting her, but she didn't reply - is everything okay?"

"Yeah, she's here. Sorry, she was making me dinner, so she probably wasn't looking at her phone."

"Are _you_ okay?" Erica says. "I mean, I know things are weird with mom, but. You know she was really frantic when you called her earlier. She does care a lot about you."

"Things are - they're okay," Patrick says. "I'm not gonna lie, I feel a lot better now that mom's here."

"I'm glad," Erica says sincerely. "I feel better too. Patty, we were freaking out over here. Even - even dad."

Well, that's not exactly something Patrick's going to believe. "Really," he says, and he knows he can't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Erica hesitates. "Listen, I know dad's been a dick to you and mom, but I think it really gave him a shock, when he figured out you and the babies could actually be in danger. When it comes down to it - he does care."

"He cares about my hockey, maybe," Patrick says, and realises with a jolt that this is the first time he's said it out loud, or even acknowledged it verbally. It's not like he doesn't know what his dad is like. It's just something he's always stuffed way, way, deep down in the pit of his mind, because it's hard to think about how his father expects him to live as an extension of himself instead of a person of his own, to the point that he'd reject Patrick for getting pregnant and taking a hiatus from hockey. It's fucking ridiculous that Patrick's won everything there is to possibly win, and his father still isn't happy. 

Maybe he'll never be happy, but Patrick's _done_ with that shit now. He has more and better things to live for now.

Erica sighs, a slow, rattling breath. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I'm not going to tell you I understand how you feel, because I can't - but I'm glad you're okay with mom at least."

"I hope we'll be okay," Patrick says; and at that moment, his phone beeps with another incoming call. He pulls it away from his ear, looks at it. "Hey, Jonny's calling in - I have to go now."

"Yeah, of course," Erica says. "Tell him I said hi. Take care, please? Call me if _anything_ comes up."

"I will," Patrick promises, and switches over to Jonny's incoming call. It occurs to him that his mom has been outside for quite a while - he'd have thought she'd be back by now with her food and everything.

"Is everything okay?" Jonny demands.

"You're a dumbass," Patrick says in response.

"Excuse me?"

"The game, Jonny," Patrick says. "The _game_. You can't - you need to get your head in it. You know whatever happens at home stays at home, it doesn't come on the ice with us. We tell this to all the rookies! You can't tell them that and then do exactly what we've told them they shouldn't do."

His mother comes in then with her own tray, and Patrick realises she's on the phone as well; it's tucked between her cheek and her shoulder, and she's talking quietly into it. Probably to Erica. She looks at him speaking into his phone, and then leaves again, presumably to grab a chair.

"I - we're not talking about that right now," Jonny says, low and furious. "I want to know if you're okay. Any more dizzy spells? And - is your mother there?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I'm not dizzy, the babies are moving a lot, my mom is here and we're going to have dinner," Patrick says. "Jonny - I mean it. You can't just check out of the game like this. You do know Vancouver is just one point behind us for the wild card spot?"

"You think I give a fuck about Vancouver right now?" Jonny says; and he's not shouting, not even raising his voice, but the ferocity of his tone makes Patrick flinch anyway. "I told you - do you really expect me to care about hockey when I know you need me?"

Fuck, the last thing Patrick wants is to make Jonny mad or upset. And even in the midst of all of this - just knowing that Jonny cares about him too, is asking about _him_ and not just about the twins - it makes him feel better. 

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that stress and fighting isn't conducive for his condition, and makes sure he keeps his voice soft when he replies. "I know that. I'm sorry I snapped at you. I know you're worried about me - but I'm okay. Really. My mom's looking after me. We're fine."

There's a pause; but when Jonny responds, his voice is audibly calmer as well, so - good to know that his wheedling still works on Jonny. "Okay. I'm sorry - but babe, I'm going out of my fuckin' mind here. I just want to get on a plane and come home and see you."

"Hey," Patrick says softly. "I'll be fine. I promise. I have my meds from Dr. Liu and I'm resting in bed and I have my mom with me. Nothing's going to go wrong, and you're coming home tomorrow anyway, and I just - I really want you to have a good game before you fly back, so the team's in good shape on this trip."

Jonny exhales. "Yeah. Just one more day, eh?" he says, like he actually can't care less about the game, or hockey, or anything except coming home to Patrick.

It's a little - shocking, to see and hear Jonny like this. Patrick genuinely can't think of anything else that would pull Jonny's focus away from hockey so strongly. And - he doesn't want this, he really doesn't, but there's a small, shameful seed of satisfaction in his heart knowing that Jonny's anxious over him. And then he feels like a crappy person for even harbouring that tiny bit of gratification.

His mom comes back into the room then, dragging a chair in with her, and she's still on the phone, but Patrick says, "Hey, I have to go now. But I promise you - everything's okay. You'll be fine, right? You'll be home tomorrow, and I think you'll feel better about it too if you and the team had a good game."

"Yeah," Jonny says. "I'll do my best. I - " and he stops, and pauses, like he was about to say something he shouldn't.

"Jonny?"

"Nothing," Jonny says. "Call me if anything comes up, okay? And I'll call tomorrow morning."

"Okay," Patrick says, and bites back the _love you_ that's threatening to spill from his throat. "Bye."

\---

His mom's still talking to whoever it is on the phone with her; but when he hangs up and puts his phone aside, she says into her phone, "Okay, bye", presses a button to hang up, and says quietly without looking at him, "I was talking to your dad."

Patrick feels himself go stiff all over. "Okay?" he says, all faux-casual, and picks up his spoon. The soup has cooled down somewhat, but it still smells enticing. He takes a spoonful. It's good, the flavour of the tomatoes sharp and bright. His mom added fresh basil to the soup, he can taste it; she probably plucked the leaves right out of Jonny's tower herb garden in the kitchen. Jonny used to grow random beans and plants in his tower gardens; he'd tried fava and lima beans, kale, peppers, cherry tomatoes, all with varying degrees of success, but when Patrick started learning how to cook at The Chopping Block, he swapped out most of those for herbs, and they've been growing surprisingly well. Patrick makes use of them in abundance whenever he cooks, and he's gotten good enough to identify herbs in his food by smell and taste.

"He asked me if he could speak to you," his mom says hesitantly, and Patrick stops, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Why?" he says; and then before he can stop himself, he adds, "So he can lecture me further about being pregnant and getting pre-diabetes and preeclampsia and messing up my hockey future?"

His mom opens her mouth. Then she shuts it again. Patrick stares at her. He can't believe she came all this way to - what, try to get him to speak to his father? It feels like yet another betrayal.

She must have seen it on his face, because she says, "I told him you wouldn't want to speak to him. I said I wouldn't let him do that until _you_ were ready. And if you're never going to be ready for that - I wouldn't blame you."

Okay, that's not at all what Patrick's expecting to hear. His body feels like it's wound up tight, ready to fight, but he forces himself to remember his prenatal yoga classes, to loosen the tension in his body from his neck to his shoulders and all the way down.

"He knows what's happening, of course," his mom continues. "I told him when I was packing to come here. I told him he couldn't stop me this time. And - I know you'll find this hard to believe - but he didn't try to. He was worried about you."

"Really," Patrick says, dry as a bone. Breathe in, breathe out, let his wrists and fingers go soft. "He hasn't said a single word to me since the moment he found out I was pregnant, except to tell me off about jeopardising my career. And now he decides he wants to be worried?"

His mom doesn't say anything for a while, and Patrick resumes drinking his soup. It's still good, and he's actually hungry, but it feels like it's sticking in his throat instead of gliding straight down.

"Patrick," his mom begins, "I just want you to know - I'm really sorry."

Patrick pauses again. A drop of thick soup falls from his spoon, hovering in midair, back into his bowl.

"I understand if you can't forgive me, but - I'm truly sorry for what happened with Christmas. Your dad didn't want to come, and he didn't want me to, and we argued about it but I gave in to him. And I shouldn't have. I knew it was a mistake the moment I agreed."

Patrick puts his spoon down carefully. He guesses they're going to have to talk about it now - which, fine. He's got a lot he wants to get out into the open.

"And you couldn't even - call me?" he asks. "You couldn't tell me about it beforehand, and apologised then? I would have been upset, yeah, but I would’ve understood. I know what dad's like when he's on the warpath. But you just - you let me find out from Jess, you didn't _talk_ to me or explain anything - that's what pissed me off most of all."

"I know," his mother says quietly. She looks down at her untouched bowl of soup. "It was wrong, and I'm not going to make any excuses for myself. I just wanted you to know that you're my son, and I love you, and I did something very wrong to you - but I'm not going to make the same mistake again. I'm here for you and for my grandchildren, and I won't let your father jerk me around like that again, not when it comes to my children's wellbeing, and I never should have in the first place."

There's a lump in Patrick's throat, and it's not the soup.

"I don't expect you to forgive me easily," Donna continues. "But - I'm glad you called me when you needed me. I'm glad you gave me this chance to come to you and tell you that I'm sorry, and to stay with you, and help you out, and be your mom again."

Patrick carefully pushes the chair back and stands up. His knees are a little wobbly when he makes his way over to his mother.

"Patrick?" she asks, looking surprised.

Patrick leans down and wraps his arms around her shoulders. She smells of Chloé's Fleur de Parfum, her favourite perfume which he always associates with her, and she's wearing small diamond ear studs that Patrick bought for her birthday years ago, just after he'd signed his ELC with the Blackhawks. He's bought her bigger, more expensive pieces of jewellery since, but she still prefers these simple studs to any other.

"Thanks, mom," he says. "I'm really glad you're here too. It feels better with you around." 

He feels her hand come up to grip his wrist; and for a while they just stay there, holding each other, holding back tears. Patrick can't quite bring himself to say "I forgive you" yet - he's still a little too raw for that - but he thinks this is a big step in the right direction.

\---

Jonny arrives home the next night at nearly 11 PM; Patrick's sitting up in bed watching Homeland, his mom reading a book in an armchair in the corner of the bedroom, when he hears the familiar stomp of Jonny's feet outside, the clatter and thud as Jonny drops his bag of hockey gear on the floor. He looks up towards the bedroom door just as Jonny comes through it.

"Babe?" he says. His face is - more serious than Patrick's ever seen it, his entire focus narrowed in on Patrick. Then he's striding towards him, leaning down, wrapping his arms around Patrick. He smells - well, like travel and airports, nothing great, but he's _here_. He's here and he's home and he's holding Patrick and kissing the top of his head, and Patrick's world, which has felt for the past few days like it's been tilted on its side, magnetic poles shifted, feels like it's magically righting itself.

Jonny pulls away to look down at him, his eyes travelling over Patrick's face, down to his belly. "You okay?" he asks. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Patrick replies. He jerks his head towards his mother, quiet in her corner. "My mom's been looking after me. It's all good."

Jonny's gaze shifts, then, over to Donna for the first time, as if he hadn't seen her when he came in, as if he hadn't noticed her at all. He straightens slowly, still looking at her, but he keeps his hand on Patrick's shoulder like a reassuring touch.

"Hello, Donna," he says. His voice is cool, but Patrick takes one look at him and knows right away that Jonny isn't going to forgive and forget as quickly as he did.

"Hi, Jon," Donna says. She gets up from her chair, brushes at a speck of imaginary dust on her shirt. "How was your flight back?"

"Fine, thanks," Jonny says. "Rocky was kind enough to send his private jet to pick me up from Ottawa once he heard about the situation, since the rest of the team had to use our usual charter to fly on to Toronto."

Patrick's mom is edging towards the door now. "I'll leave you two, you must have a lot to catch up on. Jon - are you hungry? I could make you something - "

"I'm good, thank you," Jonny replies. He still sounds calm, but it's the kind of calmness that is chilling when emanating from Jonny. "I'd just like to spend some time alone with Patrick now."

Donna directs a faint smile at Jonny that he doesn't return. "Sure, of course," she says, throwing a last hesitant look at Patrick; he nods at her. "Let me know if either of you need something, okay?"

She finally leaves, shutting the door behind her, and the moment she does, Jonny's all over him again, climbing onto the bed, bracketing Patrick's body between his thighs, kissing him on his forehead, cheeks, lips. His hands wander to Patrick's baby bump, cradling it, spreading wide over the taut roundness of it.

"That wasn't nice of you," Patrick says, even though he's melting under Jonny's almost-frantic attention, like Jonny needs to be close to him and touch him and feel him to assure himself that Patrick's okay.

"What wasn't nice?" Jonny asks. He draws back and looks down at Patrick's belly, at his hands on it. "You didn't tell me how you're feeling. Did the dizziness come back? Are the babies - "

"I feel fine," Patrick assures him. "Really. The babies are moving fine, I didn't get dizzy, I didn't throw up. My mom's been taking care of me - and you weren't being nice to her."

"I thought I was being perfectly nice," Jonny says. "And polite."

Patrick sniffs in disbelief. "I _know_ you, and I know when you're pissed and when you're blowing people off, and you're pissed at my mom still."

"Can you blame me?" Jonny asks. His brows draw down in a frown, and - yeah, okay, Patrick can't, but _still_.

"But still," he says out loud. "I mean, me and her are good now, you know? And she's going to be staying with us, taking care of me when you're away. I think you could at least try to be civil to her."

"I _was_ ," Jonny argues. "I was being polite to her. I could be a lot less."

And - okay, that's true too. Patrick supposes he should take the small victories wherever he can.

"You'll be civil to her while she stays with us, right?" he asks, just to be sure.

Jonny looks at him for a moment and sighs. "Yes, of course," he says, pecking Patrick again on the lips. "I'm not going to be rude to your mother. Not unless - well, not unless she hurts you again."

"She won't," Patrick says. He puts a hand over one of Jonny's, resting on his belly, and interlaces their fingers together. "We kind of talked about it, and - I'm not a hundred per cent there yet, to where we used to be, but we're in a good place now, and I like it."

"That's good," Jonny says, and he sounds sincere about that, at least. He leans down to try to kiss Patrick again; but Patrick remembers something, and pulls back before Jonny's lips can reach his.

"Wait," he says. "Did you really ask Rocky to send his jet for you? Just for this?"

Jonny flushes. "I didn't," he says, but Patrick narrows his eyes at him, and he capitulates. "Okay, I really didn't, but Stan informed him of what was happening with you and that I would be going back to Chicago instead of Toronto, and he called me and offered. And I - well, I just didn't say no. Listen - it got me home a lot quicker and easier than trying to get a commercial flight - "

"You mean you were so concerned about me that you stopped caring about your carbon footprint?" Patrick says; he's teasing, but it surprises him when Jonny cups his face in both of his hands, lifting it into a deep, slow kiss that has his fingertips tingling.

"Yes," Jonny says, when they finally separate. "Fuck my carbon footprint. I needed to get home to you. I needed to see you."

Patrick's heart is picking up speed; at first he thinks they're heart palpitations and maybe another bout of dizziness is coming on, but his head is clear and all he can see is the way Jonny's looking at him: soft and warm and, fuck, he looks at Patrick like Patrick's the best sight on earth to his eyes, like he's looking at someone he really loves. It makes Patrick's breath catch in his throat.

"I'm okay," he says softly. "Better now that you're home."

"I know," Jonny says; and smiles.


	10. part ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello I am back!! I took a pretty long break, mainly because work has been crappy, but I also took a break from social media in general after the news about jonny because, you know, I basically had had it up to There with 2020 at that point. but i'm back now! and writing! and look - there are just TWO more chapters of this fic left to go!
> 
> a little warning just in case: the babies arrive in this chapter (YAY LIKE FRICKIN' FINALLY) so there are mentions of the C-section and all that jazz, but there is absolutely nothing graphic! there is also talk of male lactation, but nothing kinky or sexual, hah.
> 
> heartstrings made that GORGEOUS AMAZING WONDROUS graphic embedded in this fic - seriously I can't stop looking at it because it just looks so GOOD and real 😍😍 give her some love at [her tumblr](anotherashley.tumblr.com) for it! and trademarkgiggle spent hours helping me get my formatting fixed and the graphic properly embedded because i'm hopeless at these things lmao so you know I probably would be struggling with this into next month if it wasn't for her... 
> 
> as always, a million thanks to them both for keeping me going in all the ways! ❤️❤️❤️

The Blackhawks' schedule is a little more forgiving after the Canadian road trip, and Patrick's glad since it means Jonny's home more often; Patrick’s not being clingy and dependent, he's _not_ , but it feels a hell of a lot better having Jonny around, plus his mom. 

Jonny seems to chill out more too, after the initial awkwardness around his mom; he keeps his word and stays civil, and even manages to smile around her, crack some jokes, praise her cooking. Patrick can't hide how relieved he is that Jonny and his mother are getting along, especially in the confined space of his condo; it probably wasn't too difficult, Jonny has always gotten along with her - and with Patrick's dad, too, before all of this happened - but it's a huge load off his mind and he can concentrate on other things. Like his mother's delicious cooking, and the latest season of Better Call Saul, and baths with Jonny late at night, and Jonny's hands massaging his feet, or lower back, or shoulders, or any of the other approximately two million places that ache and hurt with the weight of the babies. Oh, and also finding a nanny.

Patrick makes an offhand remark to Jonny one day about being bored staying in their bedroom all day, and Jonny ends up buying plush new armchairs with footstools for every room in the condo, including a rocking one for the nursery. This way Patrick can sit wherever he wants and be comfortable if he wants to stay in a particular room of the apartment, instead of being confined in bed all the time, and they'll double up as nursing chairs for when the babies arrive. 

He's cocooned in the one Jonny placed in a corner of the kitchen, watching his mom and Jonny move around the kitchen, chatting and preparing dinner. Jonny's basically useless at any part of cooking apart from making the salads and mixing up a vinaigrette, so that's what Donna lets him do while she works on putting the rest of their dinner together. She's making grilled jerk chicken today, with asparagus, and wild rice for Jonny and herself but a salad for Patrick to keep his carb intake low. Patrick's telling them all about Jess' new boyfriend, who he'd checked out on Facebook this afternoon; he'd gone through the guy's photo albums to see if he seemed to get up to any crazy shenanigans, or if there were any cringey photos with ex-girlfriends. So far, so good; Mark seems to be clean.

"Clean? He's not a drug user," Jonny says, amusement in his voice. "Also, that's borderline stalking, going through his photos."

"Listen, if the guy didn't want people looking at his pictures, he'd have made his albums private," Patrick counters. "And I'm just looking out for my little sister here. What if this guy turns out to be a creep?"

"I've met him," Donna says. "He's a nice boy, Pat. Don't go digging through his Facebook like that."

Jonny grins at him, and Patrick scrunches up his nose at him in return. "Wouldn't have asked you to move in if I'd known you were gonna take Jonny's side," he says to his mom. "Imagine if we had Andree here. I would be outnumbered. I'd be _overruled_ in my own house."

"Oh, yes," Donna says suddenly, and stops where she's cleaning and prepping the asparagus; she looks at Jonny, then at Patrick. "This reminds me - I had something I wanted to ask you both."

Patrick exchanges a glance with Jonny. "Yeah?"

"I was wondering how you both would feel, if we asked Andree to come and stay with us? Just for a couple of months, maybe, to help out with the twins - "

" _Yes_ ," Jonny says immediately. And then he actually wipes his hands on his apron and fishes his phone out from his pocket. "I can call her now. I think it's a _great_ idea, Donna."

Patrick bites the insides of his cheeks so he can keep himself from laughing out loud.

Donna smiles at him, like she also thinks Jonny's being a little nuts. "I was just thinking it might be good, at least for the first two or three months. Newborns can be fussy, and they'll need to be fed throughout the night, and with two of them and Jonny being away for playoffs, it might be good to have an extra pair of hands."

"My mom wouldn't mind at all," Jonny says right away. He's beaming at Donna like this suggestion from her is the only thing she could have done to put herself right back in his good books; and when Patrick thinks about it, it's probably true. 

"Actually," Patrick says, "I've been thinking about getting a nanny anyway. I got recs from both Abby and Dayna. But - I mean, if Andree wouldn't mind helping out - "

"She wouldn't," Jonny interjects quickly. 

"Having a nanny is a good idea, but that'll be a little later down the road, when you have to return to playing," Donna says. "I'll have to go back to Buffalo sometimes, and Andree can't stay in Chicago all the time either. We could take turns being here with a nanny, when you boys are back at games."

Patrick nods slowly. "I like it," he says. And the more he thinks about it, the better this plan sounds. For the first two or three months, he'll be recovering from his C-section anyway, and he'll definitely need help handling twins. And after that, his mom's right; neither she nor Andree can be here permanently, but Patrick would definitely feel better having them both around on a rotating shift, with a nanny to help them. He's not sure if he'd ever trust a stranger enough to leave his babies alone in their hands and head off on a road trip, or wherever.

"Perfect," Donna says, beaming. "Jonny, would you ask your mother, then? No, there's no rush, you don't have to call _now_ \- I was thinking maybe the last week of March would be a good time for her to get here, that's just ten or twelve days before Patrick has the babies, and it'll give her some time to put together whatever she needs to bring from Winnipeg, or if she needs to get things settled at home first."

"Sounds great," Patrick says, smiling at Jonny, who's looking - well, more pleased than he has since Patrick first sprung the news of his condition on him; but something occurs to him that makes him sit up straight in his armchair. "But - hold on. Where's Andree going to sleep, when she gets here?"

His mother looks surprised. "I guess I just - assumed she would sleep in the nursery, with me. It's a large room, I think there would be room for the both of us? If not, she can take it - I'll be fine on an air mattress in the living room."

Patrick thumbs his wedding ring; crap, he hadn't thought of this. The condo only has two bedrooms, one of which has been remodelled into the nursery; his mom's been sleeping in there on a single bed that Patrick had thought _he_ would be the one using the most, for night feeds and stuff. He supposes they could fit another air mattress in there, but the thought of his mom, his sort-of mother-in-law, and twin babies crammed in there doesn't sit right with him.

"Man, if only I'd known this jerk was going to get me pregnant, huh? I would have bought a bigger condo back then," he jokes, and looks at Jonny, expecting to see him roll his eyes.

Instead, Jonny's looking back at him, and he seems - thoughtful. Probably thinking of a way to fit everyone into this apartment and still keep them happy, Patrick guesses. In any case, it's not like he can go apartment shopping now, or right after the twins are born. But maybe a year later - maybe that's the time he can look into getting a bigger place for them all -

Except Jonny isn't going to be living with them anymore, so. Maybe not.

Patrick tries not to think about that, because he's not supposed to be stressed out, but it pops up at him sometimes. Just sly, sneaky reminders that Jonny and he aren't planning on staying married, and a few months after the babies are here, it'll be all over and his condo will have all the room he needs for a nanny.

"Yeah, if only the condo had more bedrooms, right?" Jonny's saying, and he's still looking like he's ruminating on a very interesting thought that's surfaced in his head. Maybe he's thinking about how, in a few months, he'll be out of this cramped apartment and back in his own three-bedroom condo, which has basically been collecting dust since he moved here.

Patrick makes himself stop twisting at his wedding ring. Stop touching it. Stop thinking.

"I guess we'll work out the space issue when the time comes," he replies, and doesn't say anything more.

\---

Andree arrives in the last week of March, which is perfect timing as Jonny's gone the entire week and having Andree here is probably the only way to make Jonny stop stressing about Patrick while on his road trip. Patrick's glad to have her around, if only so his mom can have some company apart from him and his swollen feet and backaches, but Andree also brings with her a certain calm and unflappability in the things she does that he really appreciates. 

He buys an automatic blood pressure monitor at the advice of Dr. Liu, and uses it to measure his blood pressure each night; it remains elevated but only slightly, which means that the medications and the presence of his mom and Andree are definitely helping. The only thing Patrick has to complain about is boredom, because - yeah, sitting around all day is not fun, and he aches everywhere, and it kills him to be stuck on bed rest when all his life he's been a strong, active athlete. But then he thinks of the alternative where he doesn't have his babies; and when framed like that, it reminds him that he'd promised himself, way back in September when he'd first found out he was pregnant, that he was never going to regret having them.

The one problem with Andree being around is that - yeah, it's getting really cramped in his condo. For the vast majority of his time here, Patrick's been living alone, and then the last eight months with just Jonny; now both their moms are here, and it feels like everywhere Patrick turns in his home there's someone in his face. He's not complaining; it makes him feel better knowing both Donna and Andree are just a shout away if he needs them, and the nursery is a pretty large room, but it does feel, well, kind of constrictive in his home with so few rooms and so many people around. He has no idea how it's going to work with a nanny added to the mix.

Andree actually brings it up one night when they're having dinner. "I hear from Donna that the both of you are thinking of getting a nanny?" she asks, looking from Jonny to Patrick.

"Oh, yeah," Patrick says. "I have some good recommendations, but we were thinking of waiting till the twins are here before we start interviewing people, you know? Mainly so we can see how they interact with the babies and everything."

"That's a good idea," Donna says, nodding. "And remember, Andree and I will stay as long as we can, to help."

"I just don't know how you're going to have room for a nanny, with two babies and the two of us," Andree says, and she and Donna laugh.

Patrick swallows uncomfortably. "Yeah, to be honest, I've been kind of concerned about that. But - I guess we'll figure it out somehow."

He doesn't look at Jonny as he speaks, and he bites back mentioning that Jonny's going to be moving out anyway. Andree's probably going to move with him too. That's good. That means they can split the babies' time between Jonny's condo with Andree, and his own condo with his mom, and the nanny can move from place to place as needed.

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry about that," Jonny says, sounding casual. "I'll have something worked out."

Oh, Patrick thinks. Of course Jonny's already planning his move. Can't let his bigger condo go to waste, after all. He wonders if Jonny's already converted one of the rooms there into a nursery; he remembers when Jonny first moved in with him here and he'd mentioned he was going to do that. Maybe he's got that all done up already. Patrick's never been able to bring himself to ask him.

Patrick looks down at his mashed potatoes and finds that he can't really eat anymore. His stomach feels tight and uncomfortable. He pushes his food around with his fork as the conversation moves on around him, but he's no longer listening.

\---

Nevertheless, he's especially grateful for his mom and Andree when he's woken up by contractions for the first time one night at 3 AM and panics; Jonny's not much better, springing awake, wanting to call Dr. Liu and the hospital before Andree calms him down. Patrick's mom sits next to him, holding his hand while timing his contractions, as Andree talks Jonny down - and luckily they end up being just irregular Braxton-Hicks contractions which fade away after an hour, but Patrick's pretty sure both Jonny and he would have flipped their shit if their moms hadn't been around.

The fact that he's getting contractions really drives it home that - the babies are almost here. God. The days seem to spin past him at an alarmingly fast rate; one moment Andree's here and there are two weeks to his C-section, and then it feels like he blinks and they're just a week away now and he's being woken up in the middle of the night by fake contractions. Another blink, and Jonny's calling him from Anaheim, telling Patrick he's waiting for his flight home, and there are just two days left now before Alex and Lucas arrive and Patrick can finally, _finally_ meet the two little lives he's been baking for more than ten months now.

There's a deep, dark part of him that shamefully wishes the pregnancy could last longer, because - he's loved having Jonny as his husband, loved having him around and in his bed, loved the care and attention Jonny's been lavishing on him. It's vain and selfish and completely self-serving, but he doesn't know how he can give it up. He's not going to force Jonny to stay with him just for the babies - they made a _deal_ \- but _fuck_ if it doesn't feel like someone's stuck a dagger into his guts every time he thinks about how Jonny's not going to stay being his husband. Jonny doesn't love him back - at least not in the way Patrick so desperately wants him to - and Patrick has six months or less to come to terms with the fact. 

\---

The remainder of the Kane and Toews immediate families arrive in Chicago on April 7, right before the Big Day. Patrick doesn't get to see the girls yet - he's making sure he stays in bed the whole day, and he doesn't want too much excitement or movement when he's trying to get himself relaxed and his mind into birthing mode (he absolutely blames this on some hippie prenatal preparation book Jonny had given him, with meditation and breathing techniques and whatever, but he'd devoured that book anyway). But he gets to talk to them on the phone, and they promise to be at the hospital along with Andree, Bryan and David the next morning, once the babies are here and Jonny gives them the go-ahead.

Patrick feels a surge of gratitude to Jonny for that - he hadn't mentioned it to him, but he's definitely been hoping for at least a couple of hours where it'll just be him and Jonny alone with their babies before their families descend, and clearly Jonny wants the same thing, because Erica tells Patrick that they're not going to turn up until Patrick's had some rest and Jonny's told them they can visit.

The night before he's due to go into Prentice for his C-section - the _night before_ , god, less than 12 hours till the babies are actually _here_ \- Jonny spoons up behind him in their usual position, arm curled over Patrick's stomach, a pillow placed under it for support. One of the babies has stuck his foot into Patrick's belly, and it's fairly visible from the outside, an extraneous little bulge that sticks out from his skin. Jonny cups the spot with his hand, strokes the small bump with his thumb, and exhales softly.

"I can't believe they'll be here _tomorrow_ ," Jonny says. "We'll finally get to see them. See how they look, hold their little hands and feet."

Patrick smiles. "I'm not sure I'll be able to fall asleep tonight."

"You have to," Jonny says. "You need to be rested."

"I know," Patrick says, "but I'm just so - excited. And - a little sad."

He bites his lip right after that - he hadn't meant to say it, but it had just slipped out of him. Crap.

Jonny stills. "Why would you be sad?"

 _Because I'm going to lose you,_ Patrick wants to say. _Because I'll lose our marriage._

But he can't, so he settles for saying, "I don't know, I've kind of grown used to them inside me, you know? It just feels strange that - they're not going to be totally mine anymore. I don't know." He laughs weakly. "That sounds weird when I say it."

It's not entirely a lie too. It's not as if Patrick doesn't want the babies born - get his blood pressure and pre-diabetes dealt with, get back to training and conditioning and _hockey_ \- but at the same time, his body's housed the twins for more than ten months, and despite the last month of anxiety and bed rest and all the associated health problems, he thinks it's done a pretty good job. It's going to feel strange when the two little lives he's baked are no longer going to be a hundred percent dependent on his body to survive and thrive.

Jonny nuzzles into the back of his neck, and pats his bump gently. "Oh yeah, I get it. Gonna feel weird when I can't feel this anymore, when we're in bed," he says jokingly. "I think I got used to patting it and touching it."

"Yeah well, better get your share of touching in tonight, then," Patrick says. "Before, you know, they cut this watermelon open."

Jonny laughs, a soft rumble of sound. He seems tired; he probably is, and Patrick really should try to sleep and let Jonny get some sleep too before tomorrow, when their lives are going to irrevocably change and sleeping will probably be a distant memory for months ahead. 

"I am," Jonny says, and pats his bump again to punctuate his words.

"I guess we should try to sleep, maybe," Patrick says. "If I can. And - we'll just go for it tomorrow."

"Go for it. You got this, babe. The Stanley Cup of C-sections."

Patrick laughs; Jonny is definitely tired now. "And the Stanley Cup of babies."

"Mm," Jonny replies. He resumes stroking Patrick's belly, caressing the spot where their baby's foot is sticking into. His body is large and warm at Patrick's back, and it's soothing and comforting and familiar. "And I'll be right there with you. And with our Stanley Cup babies."

They're no longer making any sense, but that's okay, because it's making Patrick laugh, and making Jonny press sleepy kisses into his hair and neck.

"Yeah," he says finally, and places his hand over Jonny's on his belly, linking their fingers together. One - or both - of the babies shift inside him, a heavy movement, and Patrick shuts his eyes, tries to commit that feeling of them moving around in his belly to memory, because he's probably never going to feel this again. He can't imagine having more children after this. He can't imagine having children with someone else who isn't Jonny. 

"Night, Jonny. Gotta get that Stanley Cup tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Jonny agrees, and squeezes his hand.

\---

Patrick's never going to forget that sound - his baby's first cry, loud and strong - for the rest of his life. 

He's in a birthing suite in Prentice, with Jonny holding his hand and a screen rigged up just above his torso so neither of them can see what's going on down there - nothing except the sensation of pressure, and movement, and noise, and then - a baby's loud cry. _His_ baby's cry. He tries to sit up straighter, but he can't - the epidural has completely numbed his lower half and his spine doesn't seem to want to listen to him.

"Is he okay?" Jonny demands, looking like he's about to spring out of his seat and tear the screen down. Patrick wonders if he should tell Jonny to do it. They're both hockey players, they've seen their share of blood and broken bones, they should be able to deal with whatever's behind the curtain, right?

"Oh, he's perfect," Dr. Liu says, and it's the tone of calm satisfaction in her voice that makes the little twisting knot of anxiety in the pit of Patrick's chest settle a little. "Don't you worry - we're just getting the little guy cleaned up and weighed and doing his Apgar."

"I want to see him, please," Patrick says, struggling to move upright. He can't move any more upright than he already is, damn it. The baby's cries are still going, but Patrick takes some comfort in that. Crying means his baby's breathing, that he's okay, that he's got strong, healthy lungs. No underdeveloped lungs in _that_ cry, Patrick thinks, incoherent with relief.

"Soon," Dr. Liu promises. "And we're going to get baby two out now - so hang tight."

A minute later, and there it is - another cry, as loud and piercing as the first had been, protesting against being yanked out of his warm, dark, quiet cocoon into this world where it's bright and loud and confusing and he's no longer squished up next to his twin.

Patrick starts shaking. They're here. His babies are _here_. Holy shit.

Next to him, Jonny abruptly turns and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pressing his face into Patrick's neck. He's breathing hard like he just came off a bag skate, but he's - Patrick can feel he's trembling too, and he reaches up to grip Jonny's arm.

"Is he okay?" Patrick asks.

"Baby two? Absolutely perfect," Dr. Liu says again. "We'll get them to you soon - hold on."

Jonny lifts his head and presses a kiss to his cheek, then his temple. "God," he says, and even his voice is shaky. "They're here. They're okay."

"Yeah," Patrick says, trying to remember how to breathe.

There's a lot of activity and movement now while the obstetrics team works to finish up behind the screen, and the neonatal nurses attend to the babies, somewhere out of sight but their cries loud and reassuring to Patrick. 

"Apgar 8, one minute," a nurse says, and yeah, a score of 8 is very good, Patrick can deal with that.

"Baby one, 7 pounds, 3 ounces, and baby two, 7 pounds exactly," another nurse says, and Patrick sucks in a breath. Twins are usually around five to six pounds at birth, and Dr. Liu was right, they _are_ big babies. Holy shit. No wonder he'd been so huge and heavy and needed bed rest, thanks to Jonny and his giant offspring.

The seconds tick by before - "Apgar 9, five minutes," the nurse says again, and some of the tension bleeds out of Patrick. Not all of it, but 9 is the best score he could have hoped for, especially for twins, and with a C-section, and with him being a male carrier - 

And then another long, agonizing minute, and two nurses appear with the babies in their arms; they're still bare, but they're cleaned up, and wearing tiny blue caps. They've settled down somewhat now that they're being held, their cries becoming further apart.

Patrick feels like he's going to _burst_.

"Here you go," one of them says, and carefully places a baby in his arms. She arranges his hold just right, tugging his loose hospital gown open to expose his chest, and then the other nurse steps up, and puts the second twin in the crook of his other arm, so the both of them are supported against his bare chest for the skin-to-skin contact and warmth that newborns need.

They're simultaneously the smallest and the biggest things Patrick has ever held in his life. They're so tiny and soft and fragile, snuffling against his chest, fitting perfectly in his hold. But - they're also so _huge_ , and their weight in his arms feels like it's a little too much for him to bear.

He looks down at them; they've both settled and stopped crying entirely, blinking fuzzy unfocused baby eyes at him. They have blue eyes. 

Patrick thinks of the pendant he's wearing which Jonny gave him for his birthday; Jonny got his wish - unless the babies' eyes darken in future, which is entirely possible, but for now - he's so glad that Jonny got what he'd hoped for.

Jonny's leaning against him, cheek pressed to cheek, and gazing down at the babies too. He reaches up to cup one of their heads; and god, the baby's head looks _tiny_ in Jonny's giant hand. The sight of that is doing something crazy and ridiculous to Patrick's heart.

"Oh, they're so perfect," Jonny breathes. "You did good, babe. You did so good."

Patrick can't speak through the lump in his throat. All he can do is stare at his babies, at Jonny's fingers tracing little circles on their cheeks, his hand moving from one baby to the other. Jonny gently slips a finger under the knit cap of one of the twins, lifting it carefully so he and Patrick can get a look at their hair, and - they have dark hair. They have a shocking amount of hair, actually, which Patrick didn't expect, and - it's dark, and curling in little wispy tendrils. 

They have blue eyes, and curly hair. Patrick feels swamped in this - indescribable joy.

Jonny runs his palm down the chests of both babies, careful to avoid their clipped umbilical cords, and runs his finger over their little fists and feet. Ten toes, ten fingers, strong grasp; they grab onto Jonny's finger when he carefully unfurls their fists and rubs a finger against their tiny palms. They're both wearing hospital bracelets on their ankles, printed with a barcode and Patrick's full name, and the words "Baby 1" and "Baby 2". That needs to change soon, Patrick thinks distantly. They're Alexander and Lucas.

"God," Patrick manages to say, and fuck, he's all choked up, but fuck that, because if there ever was a great time to be emotional, it's when your twins have just been born healthy and strong and well. "They're beautiful. Look at them, Jonny - they're beautiful."

"They really, really are," Jonny agrees. He kisses Patrick's temple. His hand stays on the babies, first on one and then the other, moving back and forth like a hypnotic soothing pendulum.

Patrick feels so _full_. He can't even describe what he's feeling as happiness, because - this is so far beyond any kind of happiness he's ever experienced. He just feels so full that he thinks he might explode and all that's holding him together is Jonny and their babies.

It ends far too soon for his liking; a nurse appears again from behind the screen and informs them that they'll be taking the twins to the hospital nursery for more checks and to get them swaddled, before they'll be returned very soon to Patrick for nursing.

Patrick tightens his hold on the babies. "Do you have to?" he blurts out.

Dr. Liu appears, looking pleased. "Great work, Patrick," she says, smiling. "And congratulations - you have two gorgeous, healthy babies. You made it!"

"I made it," Patrick says faintly. He looks from her to the two waiting nurses. "Do I have to - ?"

"Yes," Dr. Liu says. "Standard procedure. They'll be perfectly fine, we just need to do some extra checks and then they'll be returned to you very quickly, and you can start feeding them."

"I'll go with the nurses," Jonny says to Patrick, and - yeah, that's a very good idea. Patrick doesn't much like the idea of being left alone here while they finish up whatever they need to do with him down there, but it's far preferable to the nightmare scenarios where someone switches or kidnaps their babies taking flesh in his mind now. Jonny should definitely follow them.

"Okay," he says. "But - before that, maybe - could we take a picture? A family picture?" He thinks he wants this moment preserved in a memory forever.

"Oh, of course," the nurse says, smiling, and takes the phone that Jonny immediately hands to her. He curls an arm around Patrick, and cups Lucas' head in his hand. 

"Smile," she instructs, and Patrick feels himself grin, bright as the sun.

"Is it okay if we take them now?" the nurse asks patiently when she returns the phone to Jonny.

"Wait," Jonny says, and wiggles his thumb into Alex's tiny fist. His hand is large enough to span across both babies' torsos, so he can let Lucas grasp his ring finger too - the one with his wedding ring - and then he takes a photo like that, of their little fists holding on to his fingers.

"For the 'gram," he says, and - what? 

Patrick starts laughing. And then he makes himself stop, because he's pretty sure they're sewing him up at the moment, and he thinks laughing might rip the stitches, or something horrifying like that. 

Jonny at least has the self-awareness to look slightly embarrassed about it, and then Patrick remembers the waiting nurses, and nods. He has to physically force himself to relax his hold on the twins and hand them over, and he feels abruptly empty without them; but it's okay, because Jonny's following them.

"Go, go," he says to Jonny, and Jonny's up like a light, hurrying after the nurses and their babies out of the door, and Patrick feels a little better.

Jonny's phone is lying on the bed next to him where he'd left it, and he picks it up, swipes to the photo the nurse had taken of them together; and his heart skips a beat. It's just - it's too much. He's beaming and Jonny's beaming and they're sitting here with _their babies_ and it looks like everything Patrick's wanted and dreamed of.

\---

_Congrats to Patrick Kane and our captain, Jonathan Toews, on the birth of their twin boys, Alexander Patrick Kane-Toews and Lucas Jonathan Kane-Toews! Patrick and the twins are doing well, and both he and Jonathan would like to extend their sincere thanks to all well-wishers._

_We at the NHL Blackhawks organization are delighted for the new additions to their family and look forward to seeing Alexander and Lucas on the ice!_

_#NHLBlackhawks #BlackhawksBabies #NHLDraft2034_

\---

Jonny comes back an eternity later when Patrick's cleaned up and sewed up and hooked up, thankfully, to far fewer machines than he had been earlier. It's probably only been a short while but Patrick has no idea of the passage of time anymore - and Jonny's beaming, joy lighting up his face like the brightest bonfire. He's cradling both babies as he enters the suite, now wrapped in soft blue swaddles, a nurse following closely behind him pushing an empty bassinet, and - the sight of their twins in Jonny's arms is putting a lump in Patrick's throat.

"Hey," Jonny says, and settles himself carefully on the hospital bed next to Patrick. "We're here."

Patrick pushes the button on the side of the bed to lift himself a few degrees upwards and reaches out, and Jonny immediately deposits one of the babies into his eager arms. He shifts the baby a little to make some space across his torso, and then reaches out with his free arm. Jonny gets it right away, gently places the second little snuffling bundle into the crook of it, so they're both laid across his bare chest.

"Hey, babies," Patrick says softly as Jonny settles himself next to him on the bed, his hand immediately cupping a baby's head, like he doesn't ever want to stop touching them. Patrick knows exactly how that feels.

Their eyes are half-shut now, but they're still awake, moving a little in their swaddles as if in protest at being wrapped up. Patrick gazes at them, catalogs each tiny eyelash, the fine, near-invisible baby fuzz on their cheeks, and presses his nose to each little forehead in turn. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes again. _His_ babies. His babies are here, and healthy, and - fuck. Everything's been worth it. Everything he had to give up, deal with - worth it.

"They're pretty big babies, eh?" Jonny says. He sounds every inch a proud father.

"No thanks to you and your giant Canadian genes," Patrick says; his eyes are still wet, but Jonny's making him smile. "Did the nurses or Dr. Liu - did they say anything? When they were checking the babies?"

"They're perfectly healthy," Jonny says, and kisses Patrick gently on the temple. "Absolutely perfect in every way."

The sense of relief that spreads through Patrick is so great that for a moment he can't speak; when he finally finds his voice again, all he says is, "I'm really glad." 

"I know," Jonny says. "Me too. You did such a great job, babe."

The nurse who had followed Jonny into the room clears his throat, and Patrick looks up at him. He's fairly young, probably in his mid thirties, with dark hair and a bright smile, and it's only then that Patrick registers the slight but unmistakable swell of a belly under the nurse's loose scrubs.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kane," the nurse says politely. "I'm Liam, and I'll be your lactation consultant during your stay at Prentice, to help you with learning how to use your chest pump and how to feed your twins."

"Oh," Patrick says, and looks over at Jonny, who gives him a little nod.

"I gave your pump to the nurses earlier, before your C-section started. They've got it sterilized and ready now."

Liam parks the bassinet by the side of the bed. "Is it okay if you put the babies in here for the time being?"

There's a stupid part of Patrick's hindbrain that's saying _no! It's absolutely not okay!_ , but - Liam's here to help him, and the babies need to be fed, so with some regret Patrick allows Jonny and Liam to pluck the twins from his arms and deposit them into the bassinet. Its sides are clear, so Patrick can see right away how they settle against each other like they must have while they were in utero, curled up with their cheeks pressed together.

Liam is gentle, precise, and competent; he shows Patrick how to set up his pump, how to attach it, and shows him the difference between it and a breast pump for women. He explains that male carriers generally have a lot more difficulty and need more help than women do, simply because they don't have enough tissue in their chests.

"Some male carriers want to nurse directly instead of pumping, but that's not easy for most of them too, because without enough breast tissue, babies can't latch on right," Liam says, guiding Patrick's finger to the button on the side of the pump to turn it on. "And with twins, I would recommend you pump rather than nurse. But it's up to you, really - if you want to, we can try direct nursing for the next feed."

The pump is on now, the whirr of the motor low and rhythmic. It's a strange fucking sensation to sit here and be milked like some cow. Patrick wonders if all women and carriers feel the same; he glances at Liam's belly, and finds himself asking, "Do you - have you - "

"Oh, yeah, of course," Liam says with a grin. "This one here's my third. I tried nursing my firstborn, it was a no go, she just would not latch properly. Since then it's been the pump for me all the way. With my second one, he latched on much better, but I kept using the pump anyway because it was so much more convenient. I could use it any time of day and store whatever I pumped in the freezer, ready for feeds. I'll be sticking to the pump when this little girl comes along." He pats his belly for emphasis.

Patrick can't help but smile at that familiar gesture. "Congratulations, by the way," he says. "I can't imagine myself having three kids, wow."

He glances up at Jonny as he says it; is it his imagination, or is there a shift in Jonny's expression? Jonny had been watching everything going on, absorbing all the instructions Liam was dispensing, his face intense but lit up; but now it looks as if a shadow is settling across his features.

"It's tiring, I'm not going to lie, especially with my job," Liam's saying, "but I wouldn't change it for anything in the world." He checks the suction of the pump and nods, satisfied. "Looks like the milk is coming in pretty well - as long as this keeps up, you shouldn't have any problems with their feeds, at least for the first few days when it's most critical."

"Great," Patrick says in relief, looking away from Jonny and back down at the apparatus rigged up on his chest. He knows he'll eventually need to supplement with formula - it's not easy, even for women, to produce enough to nurse twins, but the important thing is that he's at least managing to pump. He has no problem feeling like a cow as long as his babies get fed.

\---

Feeding the twins for the first time is quite - something. When he's done pumping enough for the first feed - just a tiny amount, about 2.5 ounces each bottle - and the bottles are detached from the pump, Matt shows him how to hold and arrange them in such a way that he can bottle feed them both at the same time: his legs bent in a diamond shape, the twins lying in his lap with their heads supported on his thighs, while he holds their bottles. Patrick watches as they sleepily drink, and feels - he doesn't even know how to describe it, seeing his healthy babies drink his milk. It all feels at once both unreal and wondrous.

When the feed is finally done and Matt's gone, Jonny lifts them both carefully into the bassinet, where they curl against each other again and fall asleep. It's only then that Patrick remembers something.

"Is everyone here already?" he asks.

Jonny's gazing into the bassinet, leaning over it with his hands gripping the sides, and there's a soft, almost stunned expression of wonderment on his face that Patrick doesn't think he's ever seen before. He knows the way Jonny looks at him - he knows how sometimes Jonny's face melts into this sweet softness when he looks at Patrick - but this is as if Jonny's witnessing something miraculous on the heavenly plane unfold right before him. He kind of gets it - hell, that's exactly how he feels looking at the babies - but at the same time it's a depressing little reminder of how that's all Jonny really wanted all along. Just the babies, not so much Patrick.

"Yeah, they're all here," Jonny says. He doesn't take his eyes off the babies, and there's a tiny smile playing around his lips. "Do you want me to ask them in now?"

"Everyone?" Patrick asks, swallowing.

This time, Jonny does tear his eyes away from the twins, and he looks over at Patrick. As if he can tell that Patrick's - a little shaken, he reaches out and grasps Patrick's hand. His grip is warm and strong and feels like it always does, and he's got that same soft look on his face again, the one he always reserves for Patrick alone. It makes the heavy lump in Patrick's throat ease up slightly.

"Your father's here too," he says, and Patrick sucks in a breath. After everything - he didn't think his father would turn up. He can't quite believe he actually has.

"Babe, listen to me," Jonny says, and Patrick feels a quick little surge of relief that Jonny's still calling him _that_. "You don't have to see him if you don't want to. Just tell me, and I'll _politely_ let him know that he has to stay outside."

Jonny puts emphasis on the 'politely', but there's steel laced through his voice and in his eyes, and Patrick knows Jonny will absolutely bar his father from coming anywhere near him, if he says so. 

But - this is something he can no longer avoid or put off, not when his father has made the journey here. He glances over at the bassinet again and reminds himself that his father is still the twins' grandparent, and - whatever goes down between them, he's not about to deprive his children of their grandparents.

He licks his lips and nods. "It's okay," he says, looking up at Jonny. "They can - they can all come in. Tell them to be quiet?"

Jonny nods in return, presses a swift kiss to his temple, and leaves the room. It's not long before he comes back; and for a moment all Patrick can see is Jonny in the midst of what looks like a mountain of balloons and flowers, before both their families crowd in, absolutely laden down with gifts, their faces bright with eager, excited smiles.

Patrick can't help but grin when he sees their excitement; he holds his arms out, and his mother and sisters come over all at once, dropping flowers on him and gift-wrapped packages next to the bed and bassinet, kissing him and hugging him gingerly. 

"How are you feeling?" Erica wants to know. 

"I'm good, just a little tired," Patrick says. It's taking his sisters a _lot_ to not start yelling and squealing, he can tell, and he successfully shushes them by inclining his head towards the bassinet where the twins are fast asleep, full from being fed.

"Oh, _Patrick_ ," his mother sighs; and then they're crowding round the bassinet, gazing in. Patrick sees his mother reach in and tenderly stroke a finger along one of the babies' closed fists, and feels abruptly like he's about to tear up again.

Andree and Bryan are next. Andree grasps his face, kisses him effusively on both cheeks, adds presents to the growing pile at the foot of the bed, and Bryan and David each give him a congratulatory hug, before they turn towards the bassinet as well.

His father is last; when he steps up towards Patrick, Jonny puts a hand on his shoulder and gives it a heavy, reassuring squeeze.

"Are you okay?" Tiki says. It's the first words he's said to Patrick since back in September, when Patrick first found out he was pregnant.

Patrick steels himself. "I'm fine," he says, and realises that he sounds much more stilted and cold than he'd thought he would be. "Thank you for coming."

His father starts, as if he wasn't expecting Patrick to be this formal, and it's only then that Patrick notices he's holding gifts too: two identical teddy bears, dressed in custom Blackhawks sweaters. They're adorable, and when Tiki hands them to him and says, "I got these made for the twins", Patrick takes them gingerly, aware of the olive branch that they are.

That is, until he turns the bears over, and sees _A. KANE 88_ and _L. KANE 88_ stitched into the backs of the jerseys. There's no mention or indication of Jonny, none at all.

Above him, Jonny's grip on his shoulder tightens, the only sign that he's as unhappy as Patrick is. He doesn't say a word.

"Thank you," Patrick says, and sets the bears aside on the nightstand. His father follows his movements, a slight frown on his face. "You can go take a look at them; they're sleeping, I just nursed them."

He chooses his words for maximum impact, and doesn't miss the way his father's face twists ever so subtly at the mention of nursing. But it's gone in a flash, and then his father says, "I'm very glad you're safe, and that the babies are healthy."

And Patrick - he _knows_ that this is indeed his father's attempt at offering an olive branch, that he's trying, but the fact that he can still be so absolutely blinded to what Patrick's life and world is now -

"Thanks," is all he responds with, and watches as his father shuffles over towards the bassinet, to be swallowed by the adoring crowd around it. But he can see his father's expression as he bends low over the bassinet, and there's genuine pride and delight in his face as he gazes down at the twins.

Patrick gets distracted eventually by his mother and Andree returning to him, sitting down with him like they've done the past few weeks at home, checking in anxiously on him, and asking about his pumping. Having to discuss the more intimate details of the shape and size of his nipples with his mom and mother-in-law definitely helps to put his father out of mind for the time being.

\---

Their families stay for a little over an hour; David and Jess have brought along a bottle of champagne each, and those get cracked open into champagne flutes that the hospital actually provides - his suite at Prentice is eye-wateringly expensive, but for good reason, Patrick thinks in amusement. He doesn't drink any, of course, but he smiles as the families toast each other and Jonny, and then watches as Jonny leans over the bassinet and gently presses the base of his flute to each baby's swaddling cloths, that look of soft wonderment back on his face. 

Eventually, though, they agree to leave, noticing the babies starting to fidget in the bassinet, ready for their next feed, and Patrick flagging tiredly in his bed.

"We'll be back tomorrow, okay?" Jess says, bending down to hug him, before Erica and Jackie do the same.

"Call us if you need anything at all," Bryan says. He eyes the cot set up in the room for Jonny, and nods to himself as if he's satisfied that both Jonny and Patrick will be comfortable.

With kisses and hugs and a last flurry of fussing over the babies, their families begin to drift out; Patrick looks at his father's back, and says out loud, "Wait. Dad. Can you stay behind for a few minutes? I'd like to speak to you."

Everyone turns and looks at him; and he swallows and adds, "Alone", and flicks his eyes up at Jonny, to let him know that includes him.

Jonny frowns. "Are you sure?" he asks, quiet.

Patrick nods. "Just a few minutes. I just need to talk to him."

Jonny looks down at him, worry shading his eyes, but Patrick reaches up to give his arm a squeeze, and points his chin at the door; and eventually Jonny walks out, following the rest of their families, now very quiet, and shuts the door behind him. Patrick's alone with his father, standing uncomfortably at the foot of the bed.

Patrick doesn't say anything at first; he's trying to think of how to formulate the right words in his head, when he glances to his left and spots the teddy bears his father had given him. He picks them up; they're soft and brown, the fur made of pure alpaca wool when he takes a quick look at the label on the bottom of a foot. These have been selected with some thought, especially with the custom-sized jerseys, not just as a generic throwaway gift - even if teddy bears are pretty generic.

He turns them over slowly in his hands, and the large white stitched letters and numbers _KANE 88_ come into view.

"You know the babies are Kane-Toewses, right?" he says, and is only mildly surprised to find that he sounds very conversational, as if he's having a nice chat with his dad over breakfast, instead of something that's chilly and loaded beneath the surface of civility.

His father starts again. "I thought - "

"What did you think? That they'd only take my last name?"

"I just thought - Jonny and you are planning to get divorced anyway, wasn't that the plan? And I didn't think you'd want them to be Toewses."

Sudden, surging anger wells up in Patrick's chest. He takes a deep breath and says fiercely, "They're Kane-Toewses. We spoke about it, and decided on it." He doesn't address the topic of the divorce at all.

His dad shifts his weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable; then he says, "Well, they're your children - of course the both of you will make the decisions together for them."

Patrick sits up straighter. "You're right," he says. "They're our children, and they're your grandchildren. And that - that is the only reason I'm even willing to speak to you now, or to let you anywhere near them."

His father snaps his head up, looking stricken; he opens his mouth to say something. Patrick doesn't know what's showing on his face, but whatever it is, it makes his father stop and swallow and say nothing.

"You know what?" Patrick says softly. "You know everything you did and said to me? Not just during my pregnancy, but from as far back as I can remember, from the time I was just a kid. I can overlook all of that. I can even overlook what you did to mom; or the fact that you treated me as if I didn't exist the moment you found out I was pregnant, as if I was worth nothing to you unless I was playing hockey."

"That's not - " his father begins, but Patrick holds up a hand, and he goes silent again.

"I know what you're going to say," Patrick says. "I've heard it all a million times. How you were only worried for me. How you were just concerned about my career. How nothing can ever get in the way of my hockey, blah blah blah. You can keep saying all of that to me, but I no longer care. I've got better things to live for now than just hockey."

As if they understand what he's saying, one of the babies gives a tiny little snuffle, audible in the silence of the room. They must be getting hungry. Patrick notices his father glance over at them; his face is very pale.

"But if," Patrick says, and his father's eyes snap back to him, "if you _ever_ treat my children in such a way, or say anything like that to them, or try to force them - or make me force them - onto a path they don't want, you'll never see me or them ever again. _Ever_. I will make damned sure of that."

His father rears back, as if Patrick's words are stones flung at him.

"I'm letting you be around them now because you're their grandfather, and I don't want to deprive them of that, but I mean it. If you ever give me a reason to think you'll hurt them like you hurt me - we're fucking done."

His father is definitely pale now, going almost green; Patrick's never seen him look so shellshocked in his life, almost - _afraid_. Patrick doesn't feel scared, or upset. He feels - invincible, actually. He feels like he could withstand a fucking tsunami right now, or anything his father says or does from now on.

Instead, all his father says is, quiet and stunned, "I don't intend to - I would never hurt them."

"Good," Patrick says. "Then we both want the same thing for them, and I just need you to stick to your part of the deal."

Slowly, as if all strength has been drained from him, his father nods.

"Thank you," Patrick says, and means it as a dismissal.

His father seems to get it, and after a couple of seconds frozen in place, he begins shuffling towards the door. Just before he steps through it, he turns back to Patrick, his throat working.

"I'm sorry, son," he manages to say, and then disappears through the door, leaving Patrick a little stunned, but more than a little happy. He's managed to stand up to his father; he did it to protect his children, and he's never felt more satisfied with a victory.

\---

The babies and he are discharged from Prentice after a week; he's no longer as sore and stiff from his stitches, the babies are feeding voraciously - a little too voraciously maybe, Patrick thinks ruefully - and after getting him settled back in his condo, their respective families scatter homeward apart from Donna and Andree, who stay on as promised to help with the babies. The playoffs begin just two days after he's home, and Jonny's determined to have as much time with the twins as he can before the grueling schedule of playoffs start.

Jonny's in St. Louis when the bell rings one morning; Patrick's sitting up in bed pumping in a haze of tiredness, so he ignores it, trusting either his mom or Andree to take care of whoever it is; but then Andree comes into his room with an enormous bouquet of flowers, and a small gift-wrapped box.

"Who's it from?" Patrick asks. He's been getting a ton of flowers and gifts in the past week, and the condo looks like a flower shop now.

Andree checks the card. "It says - oh! It's from your father, Patrick. It just says, _For my grandchildren_ ".

Patrick blinks in confusion. Why would his dad - ?

Andree is eyeing him anxiously, and he remembers that Andree of course knows about the situation with Tiki. 

"Could you open the gift, please?" he asks, wondering what his father's up to this time.

Andree sets the flowers down, and then carefully unwraps the gift; it's a long rectangular box, and she opens the lid and pulls open a few layers of tissue paper before she lays it across his thighs for him to look at.

It's two tiny Blackhawks jerseys again; Patrick would recognise the colours and stripes even if he was half blind. They're the exact size for the teddy bears his father had given him, and they're face down and lying flat in the box, so he can see now that they both say _A. KANE-TOEWS 19_ and _L. KANE-TOEWS 88_.

Patrick bites his lip, trying to breathe deeply so he won't burst into tears in front of Andree, or something ridiculous. He's very tired, and his hormones are all over the place from giving birth. 

"Is this - is it okay?" Andree asks, still anxious. She clearly doesn't know what it means.

"Yeah," Patrick says, nodding. "It's good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you missed it: the graphic embedded in the fic is done by the talented [anotherashley](anotherashley.tumblr.com)! THANK YOU FOR IT ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [itsoffside](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsoffside/pseuds/itsoffside) Log in to view. 




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